


Shoulder Pillow

by Music_dreamer_003



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Angst, Artist Draco Malfoy, Biracial Harry Potter, Bisexual Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, Blushing Draco Malfoy, Flirty Harry Potter, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Indian Harry Potter, M/M, Muggle AU, Multi, Smut, drarry fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-01-23 09:37:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 92,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Music_dreamer_003/pseuds/Music_dreamer_003
Summary: Harry didn't know what to do. On a late night flight to London, Harry meets a blond boy. Well, more like a blond boy falls asleep on his shoulder and Harry thinks he's really cute.Draco didn't know what to do. On a flight that was much too late for his taste, he falls asleep on what could possibly be the most attractive guy he's seen in a while.On that same flight, Harry and Draco find out that they go to the same school. Both of them are eager to see how the rest of the school year will unfold.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Past Cedric Diggory/Harry Potter, past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - Relationship
Comments: 360
Kudos: 894





	1. Lemon Shampoo

**Author's Note:**

> So... This is my first fanfic, so any constructive criticism is absolutely welcome! Let me know what you think in the comments!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And just then, the sleeping boy curled more into Harry’s side, grabbing onto his arm and pressing his side into Harry’s. His ribs were pressed into the arm rest, so Harry slowly used his right arm to lift it back up so that the blonde could be more comfortable. His fingers curled around Harry’s arm were cold, seemingly sucking out Harry’s heat, but he didn’t mind. The blonde cuddled so tightly to Harry that there was almost no space between their bodies

Harry didn’t know what to do. One moment, he had been anticipating the remaining six hours of the flight, and the next, the blond boy (Harry couldn’t tell how old he was. He had the kind of face that was beautifully ageless. Of course, there was no way that he could have been much older or younger than Harry’s seventeen years) sitting next to him in the center seat had his head on Harry’s shoulder, fast asleep.  
  
On the one hand, Harry didn’t want to move, because the boy looked so comfortable and peaceful, his pale face relaxed, his pink lips slightly open with sleep. On the other, Harry didn’t want the poor guy to wake up and be totally embarrassed. But oh, his face was lovely to look at as he slept, and Harry could smell the lemon shampoo from the boy’s blond, blond hair.  
  
_I should really stop staring at his face and smelling his hair. This is gonna seem really creepy real soon._ The woman in the window seat had been stealing glances at them, slightly disgusted and obviously slightly intrigued at what Harry would do next. Harry did not like the disgust in her eyes. Maybe he could just let the blond sleep a little longer, as long as he wanted, just to bug the hobbling toad who sat on the other side of him.  
  
And just then, the sleeping boy curled more into Harry’s side, grabbing onto his arm and pressing his side into Harry’s. His ribs were pressed into the armrest, so Harry slowly used his right arm to lift it back up so that the blonde could be more comfortable. His fingers curled around Harry’s arm were cold, seemingly sucking out Harry’s heat, but he didn’t mind. The blonde cuddled so tightly to Harry that there was almost no space between their bodies, and Harry looked over at the shriveled hag a seat over. Her eyes were so squinted with disgust, Harry found it nearly hilarious, (if he had known this blond boy, if they had been boyfriends, Harry would have kissed him senseless just to see how far her face could squint into itself) Harry sent a smirk over the boy’s head. He settled in to watch a movie on his cell and smell the blond’s hair, moving as little as possible.  


***

Draco didn’t know what to do. He had taken his seat on the plane, between an old, cranky bat of a woman and what could possibly be the most dazzling pair of green eyes he’d ever seen. He’d done his best to avoid being awkward, he made small talk with the other boy (although calling him a boy did him no justice, he was well built with slightly broad shoulders and messy, fluffy black hair that looked so soft, and he couldn’t possibly be much younger or older than Draco and-) _I’m obsessing. I’ve said about three sentences to this guy and I’m obsessing._  
  
About two hours into the flight, Draco had gotten drowsy. Flying always made him sleepy, and it wasn’t exactly a midday flight. No, they had departed at seven, much too late for Draco’s taste, but it was the only flight he could get so last minute.  
  
Draco could’ve sworn that when he slept, he kept to himself.  
  
But when he woke up, Draco felt warmer than he ever had. His nose was filled with the scent of peppermint and cologne, and he was so comfortable that it was a miracle he had even woken up at all. But under his fingers weren’t the sleek, silk sheets he covered his bed with. Under his head wasn’t the ridiculously expensive down pillow he loved.  
  
No, he was cuddled up to and wrapped around that gorgeous pair of green eyes he had been obsessing over. He had been sleeping on that pair of brilliant green eyes. _Oh my- what if I drooled on him?!_ Of course, Draco had no intention of being embarrassed in front of those shoulders and that hair, and so he stayed exactly as he was, head snuggled into the crook of the boy’s neck, arms wrapped around the boy’s left arm, trying to keep his breathing even.  
  
What do I do now? There was no way that Draco was willing to leave his place tangled within the boy’s warmth, but he worried that he might have been making those green eyes uncomfortable. But wouldn’t he have just pushed Draco off if he didn’t like it at least a little?  
  
And so, Draco drifted back off to sleep. 

***

Harry had no idea how a person could sleep this long on a flight. (Not that he was complaining) There were only thirty minutes left before they arrived in London, and he had no idea what he would do when they landed. Would he just give the blond boy a nod and he on his way? No, there was no way that he was leaving the airport without the boy’s number. Luckily, just at that moment, the boy moved, and he seemed to be awake. Oh, this was about to get good. The ancient crone in the window seat had also fallen asleep, and Harry was beyond grateful for that.  
  
The boy seemed to jerk away once he realized he was tangled in Harry, and Harry couldn’t even bite back a laugh; granted, he kept it small so as not to wake up the harpy a seat over.  
  
The blond looked up, and Harry was met with the most stunning blue-grey eyes as they blinked open at him. The blush that rose to the boy’s face was completely visible through his pale skin, and redder than a tomato, his neck flushing as well.  
  
Harry smiled at him teasingly, “Awake at last?”

***

Draco’s mouth went dry, his face felt so hot he was certain he could cook an egg on it. The black-haired boy was even more handsome than at first glance, with a roguish jaw and a twisted smile to his lips, Draco could barely string words together:  
  
“I… I-uh… Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep on you, I guess I was just really tired, I’m-”  
  
The boy raised his hand to stop Draco from babbling his heart out and embarrassing himself further, with laughter in his eyes and a smile on his face. It was just then that Draco noticed the glasses perched on his nose, that somehow made his eyes stand out further.  
  
“It’s really okay, I don’t mind,” he stuck his hand out toward Draco. “I’m Harry, Harry Potter.”  
  
Draco looked at him for a second before he seemed to process that he was supposed to shake Harry’s hand. “Draco Malfoy. I really am sorry.”  
  
“And it really is okay. Besides, you’re cute when you sleep.”  
  
Harry smiled wider when Draco’s face flushed red once again, this time reaching even his ears. Draco looked around for a second and realized that there were only a few other passengers who were actually awake, seeing as it was so early in the morning.  
  
“Whatever,” was his reply. “How are you even still awake at this hour?” Draco asked, a little surprised that his usual, slightly snotty self was able to come through in his words. Harry’s smile faltered just the smallest bit, a little light leaving his eyes, only noticeable by Draco because, well, obviously, he was still obsessing over those green eyes.  
  
“I dunno, I’m kinda used to being up so late. And I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything while you were sleeping.”  
  
Draco decided to drop that particular subject, he wanted to be the one to bring the light to Harry’s eyes, not diminish it. 

***

By the time the plane landed in London, Harry and Draco had woken up a few unhappy passengers around them with their laughter and constant talking. Harry had learned that they were both heading to the same boarding school, and it was a tragedy that they hadn’t run into each other before then. Harry had asked Draco if he wanted to take a taxi together, and to his strangling relief, Draco’s eyes had lit up when he said yes.  
  
After getting their luggage and successfully shoving it into the trunk of the taxi, Harry was finally allowed to admire Draco’s face once again.  
  
The blond had fallen asleep on Harry’s shoulder once again, and Harry could only hope that this would be the second time of many to come as he gently played with Draco’s fingers, laying his head on top of Draco’s to fall asleep as well.


	2. The Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione had looked excited, up until he said his name. Her eyes went wide, her brow furrowed, and her mouth opened slightly. She looked down at her hands, which were clenched together so tightly that it seemed she was about to break her own fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I've gotten a few requests for a sequel, and I decided that I actually wanted to write one. I planned on ten chapters. Since the first chapter of this was just meant to be a one-shot, there isn't really a whole lot of plot or depth of character, so I kind of had to cram some of it into this chapter (sorry). It's a little bit of a filler. I also decided that I really liked the idea of a black Hermione, and a biracial Harry (he's half Indian). I hope you guys enjoy it!

The front doors of Hogwarts Academy were truly extravagant. The doors to Draco’s own family manor couldn’t even compare, much to his chagrin. And the fact that he also happened to be standing next to Harry Potter may have played a part in how absolutely _fantastic_ they were.  
  
But seeing those doors also made Draco deflate inside. _How am I supposed to make Harry like me, when who I am when I’m inside those doors is such an awful person? What if I’ve been horrible to his friends? What if I’ve said awful things about him that I just don’t remember?_ Draco had so many things wandering through his head that he didn’t even notice that Harry had started walking forward without him. Harry paused and looked back, seeming to notice that his blond wasn’t there.  
  
“You coming?” he called. Draco shook his head slightly and walked towards him. Their steps fell in sync as they walked into the entrance hall, where Harry stopped again and turned to Draco with what looked like hope in his eyes.  
  
“So,” he started, looking down at his hands for a moment, “since we haven’t really seen each other around here, I doubt it’ll magically start happening… so, do you want to, um, exchange numbers, or something?”  
  
This was the most nervous that Draco had seen Harry since he’d met him, and the thought of that gave him somewhat of a confidence boost. Without a word, he took his cell out of his pocket and handed it to Harry with a new contact form open. Harry looked at Draco and smiled at him, that same small twist to his lips that melted Draco’s confidence as if it were snow in the springtime sun. His face felt hot, and the slight brush of Harry’s fingers against his when he took the phone made his chest feel as though it would burst open.  
  
Oh, he would _kill_ to feel those fingers against his face, his lips, to feel them brushing the skin on his waist, and-  
  
“Here, I sent a text from your phone to mine so I have your number, too. Don’t be a stranger, yeah?” Harry smiled at him again, every trace of nervousness gone, while Draco was still reeling from the thoughts he’d been having in his head. It was all he could do to nod and smile and wave and watch Harry walk away in the opposite direction of where Draco’s dorm lay. 

***

Harry flopped onto his four-poster bed in his dorm room. He smiled to himself, which seemed to catch the attention of one of his roommates, Ron.  
  
“What’re you grinning for, you big dope? I thought you absolutely dreaded the thought of coming back for the new semester?” Ron was sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed, sifting through a pile of sweets his mum must have made for him.  
  
“I did, but I don’t anymore,” Harry stated, his eyes drifting closed and his lips spreading in an even wider smile.  
  
Ron studied him closer, trying to dissect all the different parts of what Harry might have been thinking. “You met someone, didn’t you?” Ron sighed loudly, the way Hermione did before she started a lecture, “Harry, we’ve done this before. If they don’t go to school here, there’s no way that it could work out. Do you not remember-”  
  
“Of course I do, I’m not stupid Ron,” Harry said, a snap to his voice that he rarely used, “but this time is different. He does go here. We both thought it was weird that we hadn’t run into each other before, but he does go here.”  
  
Ron looked skeptical. “Who is it then? It’s been a bit since you’ve gone after a guy. Wasn’t the last one that Krum fellow who was only here for like a month?”  
  
Harry’s entire face screwed up. _I really wish that he and Hermione would stop bringing that up._ Honestly, it was one of the most humiliating things that Harry had ever endured. Krum had gone out with him, without realizing it was a date.  
  
Krum had fancied Hermione. Harry had been oblivious. It was all very tragic.  
  
“I’ll tell you more about him when we see Hermione at lunch,” was all Harry decided to say. 

***

Draco was very confused. He had been sitting in his room, staring at his cell for who knows how long, and Harry still hadn’t texted him.  
  
He had gone through his first few hours of classes before lunch, and Harry still hadn’t texted him.  
  
He was sitting at one of the four tables with his friends at lunch, his eyes fixed on an empty conversation with Harry.  
  
_Am I being too needy? Is that what’s happening right now?_ Luckily, before Draco could fall any further into his downward spiral, Blaise nudged him in the ribs, perhaps a little too hard.  
  
“You’ve been glued to that thing all day, what are you watching?” he asked, with mirth in his words, like he knew exactly what Draco had been watching, waiting for. Pansy, of course, sprang to attention at his words, while Vincent and Greg were too busy stuffing themselves on food.  
  
“Draco, you haven’t been doing anything naughty on that phone of yours, have you?” Pansy teased, her dark purple lips pulled into an almost malicious grin.  
  
“No!” Draco sputtered, “No, of course not, Pansy!” His face felt hot again. Why was he blushing so much recently? What was it about Harry that made Draco’s blood go hot and rush to his face in the most embarrassing moments? Draco immediately set his phone down, hoping that the conversation would end there.  
  
But Pansy leaned over, and faster than Draco could stop it, snatched his cell. She tapped away and looked up at him after a few seconds of staring at his phone.  
  
“Who’s Harry?”  
  
“How do you even know my passcode?”  
  
“That doesn’t matter. Who is this Harry person?”  
  
That’s what made Draco stop and think. _Who is Harry? Do I really know him well enough to be so infatuated with him?__  
  
“He’s just a guy I met on the plane,” Draco started. “It’s not really a big deal.” He felt absolutely no desire to tell Pansy exactly how they had met. He could still feel Harry’s arm under his fingers, the warmth that just seemed to radiate off him, the way that he managed to make Draco laugh even so early in the morning, the way-  
  
“Not a big deal, huh?” Pansy chuckled, “I want to know everything, immediately,”  
  
Draco sighed dramatically. There was no way he could shake her off now, or placate her with half-baked details. Fortunately, Vincent and Goyle still weren’t paying attention, and Blaise knew how to keep a secret.  
  
So he told them everything, all whilst scanning the large Great Hall for a pair of sparkling green eyes. _

***

Hermione had finally arrived at their lunch table, where Ron had been pestering Harry for details about the boy he had met.  
  
“Oh good, you’re finally here, Hermione,” Ron complained, “Now Harry can tell us all about this new fellow he’s met.”  
  
Hermione’s almost black eyes narrowed, “There’s someone new?”  
  
“Apparently. But he wouldn’t tell me anything until you got here.”  
  
“Alright, alright,” Harry conceded, “we met on the plane here. He sort of fell asleep on my shoulder on the way. His name’s Draco. Draco Malfoy.” Harry smiled.  
  
Hermione had looked excited, up until he said his name. Her eyes went wide, her brow furrowed, and her mouth opened slightly. She looked down at her hands, which were clenched together so tightly that it seemed she was about to break her own fingers.  
  
“What? What’s wrong, Hermione?” Harry’s mind raced with the possibilities. _What if Hermione’s already met him? What if everything was a lie? What if he’s not the person that I thought I met? What if-_  
  
“Harry… Do you remember back in year nine, when that boy called me-” she cut herself off.  
  
“Of course I do. You wouldn’t tell us who it was,” Harry recalled. Of course, he remembered that day. She had come to their common room in tears, and Harry and Ron tried to comfort her for a few hours before she told them what had happened. She seemed to know that if she told them who had done it, Harry and Ron may have gotten themselves expelled by beating the arsehole until he was an unrecognizable lump of flesh.  
  
Hermione had been self-conscious about the color of her skin for weeks afterward until Dean had finally managed to show her that she should be proud of her black skin, that she was beautiful in every shade.  
  
“Wait,” Harry said, realizing what she was implying, “You can’t mean that… It wasn’t him, was it?”  
  
Hermione nodded. “That was his name, Harry. Draco Malfoy’s the one who called me a-” Harry put his hand up to stop her there. He didn’t want to make her taste that word on her tongue.  
  
Harry almost couldn’t feel anything.  
  
If Draco was cold-hearted enough to call Hermione that awful, horrible word, simply because of the color of her skin, what could he be thinking about Harry?  
  
Harry’s father had been Indian, his mother had been white. And Harry looked so much like his father, his skin only a few minuscule shades lighter. If Draco knew that Harry himself was biracial, what horrible things would he say about him, if he could say those things about Hermione? Hermione, who had always been there for Harry, and who was possibly the smartest, kindest person he knew. Hermione, who was always willing to help anyone struggling in class.  
  
Harry didn’t want to find out.  
  
Harry would not be using that phone number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, please don't kill me for the ending! I didn't really want the whole story to be OOC, you know? I'm planning on updating on Saturdays and Mondays, hopefully. Anyway, constructive criticism, comments, kudos, are all amazing! If you guys have any requests for fics, even from different fandoms, I would love to write one!


	3. The Cold Shoulder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those green eyes finally flashed in his direction, and settled on Draco’s face.  
Only, they lost the sparkle they had seconds before. In their stead came a steady coldness that spoke volumes, even from across the hallway, where Harry kept walking in the direction that Draco had just come from. His smile slipped and melted off his face, as Harry slightly shook his head, leaned closer to his red-haired friend and whispered something, who then gave him a similar look.  
Draco stopped in his tracks, staring at Harry’s receding back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry I'm a little late on an update. I know I said Saturdays, but you wouldn't believe how busy and exhausting mine was. So this chapter is basically twice as long as normal to make up for it :) Also, I decided to bump up the number of chapters for this story (I basically doubled it, honestly). I just looked through my plan and decided that there was so much more I could do with this, so much more space to fill. Just so you guys know, I've been trying to make this piece as authentic as possible, and since it takes place in London, England, I've been researching different things to make it more realistic (I am not from the UK, if you didn't catch on to that). So, there are going to probably be some inconsistencies when I use American English terms for things that I couldn't find an easy conversion for. But, whenever I use the word football, it's basically soccer for anyone who's American, like me. Anyways, here goes. Hope you like it! :)

It had finally happened. Draco had finally seen Harry in the hallway. He had been walking from English to Maths, and Draco had caught a glimpse of that fluffy, unruly black hair, and he knew that it couldn’t possibly have been anyone else. Harry’s green eyes sparkled as he talked with another boy, a red-haired one that Draco didn’t know. Draco waved his hand, trying to get Harry’s attention. Those green eyes finally flashed in his direction and settled on Draco’s face.  
  
Only, they lost the sparkle they had seconds before. In their stead came a steady coldness that spoke volumes, even from across the hallway, where Harry kept walking in the direction that Draco had just come from. His smile slipped and melted off his face, as Harry slightly shook his head, leaned closer to his red-haired friend and whispered something, who then gave him a similar look.  
  
Draco stopped in his tracks, staring at Harry’s receding back. The other students pushed past him, some of them bumping his shoulders in an attempt to get him to walk again, but Draco seemed rooted to the ground. His fingers had gone slightly cold, as if missing the warmth they might have gained if Harry had stopped to touch his hand.  
  
_Have I done something? Does he already hate me?_ Finally, a particularly hard shove from Blaise, who had come out of nowhere, got him moving again. He walked as if on autopilot, just taking the necessary steps he needed to get to his next class. It was his last for the day. Afterward, he could contemplate and overanalyze what had happened.  
  
“Draco, are you alright?” Blaise asked. He didn’t respond. They finally reached the Maths classroom; Draco walked to his seat and sat down, staring at the wood of his desk.  
  
“Really mate, what’s got your knickers in a twist?” Blaise nudged him again as he took his seat next to him. Blaise continued to stare at him until Draco lifted his eyes from the desk.  
  
“I think I may have done something, but I’ve no idea what.”  
  
Blaise seemed to catch his meaning. “Is this about that Harry fellow? I saw him walk past you, why don’t you just text him? Ask what crawled up his arse.”  
  
Draco’s lips twitched at the sides, an attempt at a smile, and that seemed to be enough for Blaise. He turned and faced the front of the classroom where Professor Vector was beginning class. Draco paid her no mind as he pulled out his cell, hiding it under his desk so the professor wouldn’t see.  
  
_**Is everything alright?**_  
  
The message sent, and no more than a few seconds later, the “read” banner came up beneath it. But Harry wasn’t typing. Draco mentally cursed himself. He cursed himself for his own patheticness, that he seemed so reliant already on a boy he had only just met. He cursed Harry for his stupid power over Draco. For the effect that he seemed to have on him. He cursed Harry all throughout Maths because, by the end of it, Harry still hadn’t messaged him back. And Draco was beginning to think that he wasn’t going to. 

***

Harry had no plans to respond to Draco’s message.  
  
_No, everything is not alright, you git,_ Harry thought. This certainly hadn’t been Harry’s first time dealing with someone not being who they seemed, but this time felt different, for some reason. His chest ached with heaviness, his eyes constantly seemed fixed on finding that blond head of hair in the crowd, and his head was constantly filled with the memory of his lemon-scented shampoo, his cold, smooth skin, and the way his face flushed whenever Harry smiled at him.  
  
“Mr. Potter, I do not expect you to be fully aware of your surroundings, what with you only having half a brain, but surely you must notice that Longbottom requires assistance,” Professor Snape, the chemistry teacher, drawled at Harry in his snobbish, slightly nasally voice, the one that always set Harry on edge. Harry looked up to see that hooked nose, and the professor’s beady black eyes looking down on him.  
  
Harry smirked, and he knew that talking back to the teacher was a bad idea, but- “If I have only half a brain, Professor, surely you, as the professor, would be much better suited to helping Neville? Or any other student who has already finished with the project?” Harry gestured to his own beakers in front of him, and the worksheet that he had already finished. He knew that he had improved in chemistry since he actually started studying with Hermione, and he knew that it bothered Snape to no end.  
  
The professor’s eyes glared down at Harry as he sneered, “You would be best suited to learn to hold your tongue in my class, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Harry simply smirked harder and nodded his head, which sent Snape away to another student’s table to bark at them about how they were failing.  
  
Harry turned back to the table behind him, where Neville’s beaker was smoking an almost orange color, which definitely shouldn’t have been happening. Neville looked as frustrated as ever, staring down at the instructions on his paper with his hands in his hair. “Here, Neville, you just have to add this to the beaker, it’ll cancel out whatever it is you did wrong,” Harry said softly, with a look that told Neville he was sorry for almost setting Snape on him. He handed Neville a small vial full of opaque grey liquid.  
  
Neville took the vial with slightly shaky hands, and looked Harry in the eyes when he said, “Thank you, Harry.” Harry simply smiled and nodded his head before turning back around.  
  
Snape had been right about one thing, he had only half his mind left, the other was too focused on Draco to do much else. _At least I have football practice after this._ That always managed to clear his mind, no matter what he had been thinking about beforehand. 

***

Draco had decided to go on a walk after Maths, to try and clear his head, despite the slight chill in the air on the grounds of the academy. He’d walked almost all the way around the grounds when he came to a stop at the football field; because there, leading the group of people running laps around the field, was Harry Potter. Harry, who was wearing a grey pair of shorts and a grey tank top, the latter of which was covered in sweat, like the rest of him. His glasses had seemingly disappeared from his nose, but as they turned a corner of the field, he seemed to be able to see just fine.  
  
Luckily, Draco was far enough from the field that Harry would pay him no notice. Oh, but Draco noticed everything about Harry. Especially the fact that Harry was leading the pack of running humans. _Of course, he’s the captain of the football team. Just my luck,_ Draco thought.  
  
He found a tree to sit against and decided that this was where he would do his Maths homework, right where he could concentrate (on Maths, of course), which also happened to still have a decent view of the football field. Draco watched as the team ran their last lap, and Harry ran a hand through his damp hair, screwing it up, as he gave the team orders. Some were playing a mock game against each other, while others started running again. Harry himself joined the mock game, and Draco decided that he could probably watch Harry play football for hours on end. The way that he moved was graceful and almost beautiful, but every movement was also precise and not without purpose.  
  
Draco watched the team practice until Harry gave them all the okay to go to the changing rooms. That was when it occurred to Draco, that if Harry was the last one out of the changing room, Draco could talk to him. Alone. And the odds of Harry being the last were good, seeing as he had stayed on the field to pick up the balls and small cones the team had used. And so, Draco hoisted his bag back onto his shoulders and walked towards the changing room.  
  
He hid around the back so no one could see him. The smell of the place was strong even outside of it, sweat, deodorant, and cologne. Draco hid there for what he thought was for too long for a group of teenagers to simply change their clothes, but it was worth the wait when Draco finally gathered the nerve to walk inside.  
  
Because there, in the boys’ half of the changing room, was Harry Potter, alone, and shirtless, with his back to Draco. Harry was ruffling his damp hair with a towel, his back muscles shifting underneath his skin.  
  
_I need to look away. I definitely need to look away right about now. I should let him know that I’m here. I should definitely not be staring at him right now,_ Draco thought. But he couldn’t find the strength within himself to look away. He had a broad back, and hips that were narrow, but certainly not as small as Draco’s. His skin was a rich, almost-light brown with olive undertones, and the lighting of the room seemed to make him glow.  
  
It was only when Draco got past the fact that he was seeing Harry with no shirt on that he saw the scars. They weren’t the kind of scars that were overly noticeable. No, they looked old. The scars rained down on Harry’s back in lines, most vertical, but there were an odd few that were diagonal or even horizontal across his skin. There weren’t enough that they completely covered his back, but there were only a blessed few patches where the scars did not reach. There were three that looked like the worst, they were paler, more raised, more ragged and painful looking.  
  
And just to his luck, Harry turned around and jumped, having seen Draco. “Holy- What the hell, Draco?” Draco’s anger came rushing back through him, almost completely forgetting about the scars and the fact that Harry was shirtless. He tried not to notice how Harry was even more gorgeous from the front.  
  
Draco planted his hands on his hips, “Why haven’t you texted me back? Weren’t _you_ the one who told _me_ not to be a stranger? What was your deal in the hallway?” Draco fired questions like bullets, he could feel his chest constricting with each one, his anger giving way to fear of what Harry might say. Or do.  
  
Harry’s previously shocked face turned into one of anger and resentment. “What’s my deal?” he started, his voice deathly quiet, “Are you telling me that you’re not completely racist? That you haven’t used awful words against people who don’t deserve it?” Harry’s voice had gradually gotten louder, and Draco’s already pale face had gone even more so. Harry took a few steps towards Draco, who stepped back until he was at the wall. Harry didn’t come much closer, as if he couldn’t stand to be in such small proximity to him.  
  
“Ninth year, Hermione Granger. Ring any bells for you?”  
  
Of course, it did. _How am I going to explain this one to him?_

***

Harry’s blood was boiling. The _git_ had had the nerve to demand what _Harry’s_ deal was. The only thing running through his head was that this boy had hurt Hermione, that this boy that had wormed his way into Harry’s head so thoroughly, had hurt his best friend.  
  
Draco’s hands came up, palms facing Harry as if trying to calm an animal. “Of course I remember. Harry, please, let me explain.” Draco’s grey eyes were pleading with him, and his pale face was contorted in a mixture of guilt and fear. “Please.”  
  
Harry analyzed his face, then grunted, “You have five minutes. Make it good,” and turned back to his locker. Draco hesitated as if he couldn’t believe that Harry had actually given him a chance, then began talking.  
  
“Harry, my father is probably one of the most racist people that I know. I had constantly heard words like those from him, and I grew up with them being tossed about like they were nothing. When I said those words to Granger, I had no idea what they really meant,” Draco paused to take a breath as Harry pulled a fresh shirt over his head, and turned back to look at Draco with his arms crossed over his chest.  
  
“I was angry, and stupid. I only remember that she had one-upped me in class, and I was so embarrassed and angry, and I just said it to her after class in the hallway. But Harry,” Draco paused, “the moment that they came out of my mouth, I wanted to take them back. I hated the way that word tasted, and I saw the look on her face, and I knew that I never wanted to be like my father.” He hesitated again, his hands moving back to his sides, and his eyes looking down. “I was just too ashamed and prideful to apologize.”  
  
Draco looked back up at Harry.  
  
He could feel his anger subsiding, his face softening, his muscles relaxing. It seemed like a plausible enough story, but Harry was still hesitant.  
  
And then something occurred to Harry.  
  
“You’re going to tell Hermione everything you just told me. You’re going to apologize to her, and you’re going to mean it with every fiber of your being,” Draco’s mouth opened like he was going to protest, but Harry lifted his hand and continued, “I may be interested in you, Draco, but she’s my best friend, and there’s no way in _hell_ that this is going anywhere if you have _any_ problems with the colors of our skin.” Draco’s face flushed slightly at the mention of Harry’s interest in him, but he nodded.  
  
“I really am sorry, Harry.”  
  
Harry nodded, then turned back to his locker to shove the rest of his things inside, smiling slightly. After he closed it, he walked past Draco to the door and said, “Come on, then.”  
  
Draco stumbled after Harry outside, stuttering “You mean I have to do it now?”  
  
“Yes.” Harry didn’t break stride as Draco caught up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you guys enjoyed it. I really love reading your guys' comments! And kudos are always appreciated. If you guys have any constructive criticism on my writing, I'm always looking for ways to improve. I know I can be a little spotty. I'm also slowly figuring out different ways to make the chapters look the way I want on ao3, just be patient with me. Thanks for reading! :)


	4. An Overdue Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione interrupted his thoughts with a raised brow in his direction. “Well? I’m not going to stand around here wasting my time waiting for you to put two words together, Malfoy,” she hissed.  
It seemed to be just the thing he needed to get the words to come out of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I wrote this while I'd only had five hours of sleep and running solely on hot chocolate and crackers, and while I should've been sleeping. Which makes no sense, because I was experiencing some serious writer's block. I really should've picked another time to do it, but I guess there's no time like the present! So, if it's terrible, I sincerely apologize.

Draco could feel his hands sweating. He had followed Harry all the way back to his common room in the northern dormitories, where Harry had gone inside to get Hermione. Draco was alone to ruminate in his thoughts. They weren’t very pleasant ones.  
  
He was worried about so many different things. What if Hermione tried to convince Harry that he wasn’t worth bothering with? What if Harry _listened_ to her? (Of course, Harry would listen to her, he was the kind of person who puts those he loved before anything else. He was the kind who loved fiercely and with everything he had, and Draco knew that he longed to be one of those people, to be loved so passionately) But most of all, deep down, Draco knew that the biggest thing that was worrying him was the fear that Hermione would despise him. That she would take his apology and throw it into the metaphorical trash bin.  
  
How would he explain to her how those words had tasted on his tongue? How could he make her see that he had hated himself for weeks after they had passed the threshold of his lips? How could he explain to her that he thought the deep, rich brown color of her skin was beautiful in every way?  
  
Harry came out of the door that led to the northern common room with an unreadable expression on his face.  
  
Hermione followed behind him, her eyes scanning the hallway before landing on Draco. Her eyes narrowed while the rest of her face went blank. Draco could feel his stomach clenching, his heart was beating faster, his hands felt clammy, he couldn’t even-  
  
Hermione interrupted his thoughts with a raised brow in his direction. “Well? I’m not going to stand around here wasting my time waiting for you to put two words together, Malfoy,” she hissed.  
  
It seemed to be just the thing he needed to get the words to come out of his mouth.  
  
“Granger,” he paused, swallowed hard, “Hermione. I… um. I just, I know that what I said to you was awful, and horrible, and I’m so sorry.” Draco swallowed again, he couldn’t seem to dislodge the horrible feelings there. “I grew up with a father who has no regard for colored people-”  
  
“People of color,” Hermione interrupted. “The term is _people of color._ We are people first. We aren’t less than, we are just as human as you.” At that moment she glanced at Harry, who dipped his head in agreement. Draco looked down and nodded, he could feel his ears going pink.  
  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Draco looked up to see Hermione gesturing with her hand for him to continue.  
  
“My father is immensely racist, Hermione. I grew up with those words being tossed about like they were nothing, it was normal to me. But-but when I said that to you, I instantly, immediately regretted it. I hated the way that those words felt when I said them, and I wanted to take them back so badly,” he paused, ready to bear the worst of it, “I was just too much of a coward to do it. I was so ashamed and- and I hated myself for it. And I couldn’t stand to let you see that.”  
  
Draco looked her square in the eyes. “I’m truly sorry for what I said to you, Hermione, and for the pain that I’ve caused you.”  
  
She held his gaze, and he could’ve sworn that he saw a twitch of her lips, and her eyes line with silver. “I can’t say that I thought I would ever hear those words,” she said, “I also can’t say that I forgive you right now, but I can say thank you. Thank you, for saying those things, and for telling me your story.” The corners of her mouth were definitely pulling into the smallest of smiles.  
  
“You seem more like a human being.”

***

Harry had left Draco standing there in the hall after telling him that he would be back in a few minutes. The moment that he and Hermione had walked into the common room, she had practically tackled him in a hug. Of course, Harry, being as well-built as he was, wasn’t even moved by her much smaller force. But he could practically feel the energy buzzing off of her. He wrapped his arms around her.  
  
Her shoulders were shaking with both laughter and tears. Harry smiled softly, as he hunched over a little to place his chin on her head.  
  
“Harry, how did you even-” she paused, shaking her head in his chest, “I suppose it doesn’t matter how, just that you did. So thank you, Harry. This was _so_ much better than you and Ron beating him up.”  
  
He shook his head slightly, and talked into her hair, “All he needed was a push, really.” He shook his head again and kissed her forehead just as he heard her sniffle, just slightly. She let go of him after he told her she was squeezing the breath out of him. She smacked his arm lightly.  
  
“I have to go and tell Ron, otherwise he might try to beat you up when he sees you with Malfoy in the halls,” Hermione teased.  
  
Harry didn’t even try to deny it. “Would you be okay if… If I _were_ with him in the halls?” Harry asked, “Because if you’re not okay with it, even a little bit-” Hermione stopped him with a simple raise of her brow. “Harry, I do think that he meant what he said. It’ll take some getting used to, seeing my best friend with a boy I’ve hated for so long. But I think, I think that I’m okay with it,” she paused, her lips twisting in a conspiratorial smile, “Just don’t tell him that. I think I’m looking forward to seeing how long he’ll grovel at my feet for.”  
  
Harry laughed, loudly and boisterously. Oh, how he loved seeing this side of Hermione, every time she came out to play, it always left him entertained and impressed for days afterward. The last time she had come out was when Ron had been dating Lavender Brown. Ron hadn’t talked to Harry or Hermione throughout their whole relationship. But oh, the moment that it was over, Hermione had practically tortured Ron for weeks with the stupid things he had done in the name of what he thought was love.  
  
“Go, go talk to Malfoy. I’ll find Ron.” Hermione gently shoved him towards the door, wiping her face with her other hand. Harry nodded, watching her walk away for a moment before going back outside to the corridor, where Draco was waiting.  
  
He was leaning against the wall, looking at his nails when Harry saw him.  
  
Draco’s head snapped up, his grey eyes flashing with worry. Harry took a moment to just gaze at his eyes before speaking.  
  
“Would it be okay if I walked you back to your common room?” 

***

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. Harry wanted to walk with him?  
  
“Um, yeah, s-sure,” Draco said. _Crap,_ Draco could feel his face heating again. _Again._ He knew that Harry could see the flush on his face, and Draco couldn’t stop thinking about that moment in the changing room when Harry had said he was interested. _In Draco._  
  
“What, um, what did Hermione say?” Draco asked as they started walking. He definitely wasn’t trying to steer the conversation away from blush-inducing topics.  
  
“She doesn’t hate you,” Harry reassured.  
  
“Is that all? _She doesn’t hate you._ What kind of comforting information is that?”  
  
“The rest is strictly confidential best friend stuff. Completely classified. Very hush-hush type of thing.” Harry smiled teasingly, bumping Draco’s shoulder with his own. Draco would never admit it, but he almost fell over. It was at that moment that Draco realized how small Draco was compared to Harry. Sure, he was only a few inches shorter, but Harry was much broader, and he had more muscle by far. Draco was by no means weak, he liked to play football as much as the next person, but Harry was a whole different kind of strong.  
  
“Very funny, Harry.”  
  
When they reached the door to Draco’s common room, in the southern dormitories, Draco paused outside the door. He looked up, just to see those sparkling green eyes looking right back at him, that smile still on his lips. Draco smiled back as he said, “Thanks for walking with me, Harry.”  
  
Harry’s smile softened. “Thank you for apologizing to Hermione. You have no idea how much it meant to her, to both of us.”  
  
Harry kept saying that, _we_ and _our_ and _us._ He knew that Harry wasn’t white, at least from what he could tell. “Harry... is it… is it okay if I ask you what your ethnicity is?”  
  
Harry stared at him for a moment and then laughed.  
  
He _laughed._ As much as Draco loved the sound of Harry’s laugh (it was a deep sound, like he was using his whole chest space to laugh with, and it was such a light, airy laugh that instantly made you want to be let in on the joke, it made you want to laugh with him) Draco couldn’t see what was funny. Did he ask it wrong? He knew that there were definitely wrong and offensive ways to ask, but Draco was pretty sure that he hadn’t said anything offensive.  
  
But then again, what did he know?  
  
Harry was still laughing when he got enough air to say, “At least you didn’t ask me, ‘What are you?’.” He smiled at Draco when he stopped chuckling.  
  
“Don’t worry, the way you asked was probably one of the most polite ways I’ve been asked,” his smile turned a little sad as he went on. “My mom was as white as they come, honest. She had red hair, and she’s where I get my eyes from. My dad was Indian. I’m biracial.”  
  
Draco nodded, but his mind stuck on one word Harry had said: “Was?”  
  
“Oh, yeah, they um, they died when I was really little,” Harry said it like it was almost nothing.  
  
Draco was dumbfounded. How did someone who came from that sort of background, one that was filled with so much loss and sadness, turn out like Harry?  
  
“Well, it’s getting kind of late. Goodnight, Draco. Don’t be a stranger, alright?”  
  
“Goodnight, Harry.” Draco waited until Harry turned a corner and he couldn’t see him anymore to go into the common room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's horrible, I'm sorry. If this chapter was offensive to you in any way, please let me know how and why, so I can fix it in later chapters. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments, kudos, requests, I take them all. Thanks for reading!


	5. I Think You Smell Wonderful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think,” Harry started, trying to swallow past the hurt in his throat, “I think that I need to get to class. I don’t want to be late to first hour.” He stood up from the couch, grabbed his bag, and started walking towards the door. But he paused, looked over his shoulder at Ron, and said, “Come talk to me when you get your head outta your arse.” Hermione stood up again and follow him out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, this week has been a rough one (and it's only Tuesday). And while I'm aware that I'm updating early, I just kind of felt the need to write and update today. And so, I present to you, chapter five.

Ron was not taking the new developments well.  
  
“Harry, no! Do you not remember how crushed Hermione was after what he said to her?”  
  
“Ron, I’m right here. And I told you, he apologized.”  
  
“See, Ron, he apologized! I don’t see why you’re so upset. Hermione’s alright with him, so what’s your deal?”  
  
“What’s _my_ deal? What’s _your_ deal? Why’re you two so quick to forgive him?”  
  
“Ron, he apologized to me, and I’m okay with Harry seeing him. Why are you being so stubborn about this?”  
  
“So what, just because Harry wants to get in this guy’s pants we’re supposed to forgive and forget?”  
  
Ron’s face was practically the same shade of red as his hair. His eyes were stone cold and unremorseful, his hands clenched on the armrests of the chair he was sitting on in the common room. Hermione’s eyes went wide, and Harry’s mouth dropped open, his brow furrowed. A sharp breath that almost seemed like a laugh came out of Harry’s mouth, his face was contorted with disbelief.  
  
“Is… is that what you think of me? That I just want sex from him?” Harry’s heart was stuttering in his chest, it couldn’t seem to function quite right. “Do you really think that low of me?”  
  
“It wouldn’t be the first time you only wanted someone for sex. Ginny was one of those people, wasn’t she?” Ron tilted his head as if he were genuinely asking. Hermione made an outraged sort of squeaking noise, shooting up from the couch she and Harry had been sitting on, adjacent to Ron’s chair.  
  
_“Ronald Weasley you know as well as I do that-”_ Harry stopped her with a hand on her wrist, gently pulling her back to sit down. He wasn’t looking at either of them. He _couldn’t_ look at either of them. The problem was that Ron _didn’t_ know as well as Hermione did. Sure, Harry had liked Ginny, had really liked her. And Ginny had liked him, at least he had thought so. And they had gone on a date, they just… hadn’t told Ron. They had both been afraid that Ron wouldn’t take it well.  
  
It had all gone sour at a party after a football game Harry’s team had won last school year. Harry and Ginny had both had too much to drink. The morning after hadn’t been very pleasant for either of them. Ginny had decided that she didn’t want a relationship that had begun with sex, so that had been it. It hadn’t mattered that Harry had wanted to try for a real relationship. It hadn’t mattered that Harry was sure that they could’ve loved each other and made it work. Ginny had said no, and Harry wouldn’t ever push her into something she didn’t want.  
  
All Ron knew was that Harry had slept with his sister, and never taken it any farther. Harry hadn’t bothered to tell him any of the rest of it, he knew Ron wouldn’t believe it coming from his mouth. It seemed that Ginny thought the same.  
  
“I think,” Harry started, trying to swallow past the hurt in his throat, “I think that I need to get to class. I don’t want to be late to first hour.” He stood up from the couch, grabbed his bag, and started walking towards the door. But he paused, looked over his shoulder at Ron, and said, “Come talk to me when you get your head outta your arse.” Hermione stood up again and follow him out the door.  
  
_I can’t believe I said that to him. Now he’ll never talk to me. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut._ Harry shook his head as Hermione laid her hand on his shoulder. All Harry could see was Uncle Vernon shutting the door of his little cupboard under the stairs, shouting at him for talking back, those awful names-  
  
“Harry, Ron didn’t mean those things he said. He’ll come to his senses, I’ll talk to him. I don’t really understand why he’s being like this, I told him that Malfoy apologized, I told him that I was okay with you and him,” Hermione explained.  
  
He just shrugged. “It’s not your fault, ‘Mione. But we should really get to class.”  
  
She nodded her head and looped her arm through his as they walked to English. 

***

Draco was walking on air. Sure, Blaise and Pansy had been teasing him all day for it, but all he could think about through his morning classes was that _Harry liked him_. _Harry_ liked _him._ He’d said it. With his own mouth. To Draco’s face.__  
  
Draco was well aware that all this thinking of Harry was getting to his head, and that it was more than a little pathetic, but this was the first time someone had liked him back. He hadn’t seen Harry since yesterday when he’d walked Draco back to the common room.  
  
The moment he’d walked in, Pansy had seen the pink in his face and demanded details. Blaise, of course, went right along with her.  
  
“Wait, wait, wait,” he’d said, “you’re telling me that you saw _Harry Potter_ shirtless?” Blaise was leaning forward, eager for every piece of information he could get. Draco’s face had immediately gone red. Pansy squealed a high-pitched laugh, throwing her head back with more laughter at Draco’s embarrassment. She calmed herself down long enough to ask, “Is he as hot as I’ve heard?” before laughing even harder at how Draco’s face managed to go even more red, this time joined by Blaise.  
  
“Oh, shut it, both of you,” he snapped. They were practically howling at this point, gaining the attention of everyone in the common room. Even Theo had walked over to see what the ruckus was about.  
  
“Draco has what could possibly be the biggest crush on a certain Harry Potter,” Blaise had explained through his dying laughter. Theo then looked at Draco, who explained the whole story through again for his other friend.  
  
“He walked you back here and you didn’t introduce us?” Theo asked in mock offense. Pansy had chuckled even harder at that, her face flushed a bright pink.  
  
Draco was currently walking towards the Great Hall for lunch when he saw Harry. Pansy seemed to follow his line of sight from beside him and shoved him in Harry’s direction. He turned back to glare at her, but she just nodded her head in Harry’s direction as her eyes said _It’s pathetic enough that you’re constantly thinking about him, at least go talk to him while you can_.  
  
Draco’s throat went slightly dry as he walked towards Harry through the crowd of students. Harry looked up and noticed him when Draco was about three or four meters away. Draco was beyond relieved to see a small smile on his face instead of the grimace Draco had been slightly expecting.  
  
“Hey,” Draco said. He frowned slightly at his own awkwardness.  
  
Harry just smirked at him, “Hey back, stranger.”  
  
“I just, I mean I saw you over here and I guess I just wanted to say hi.”  
  
_Oh thank the heavens,_ Draco thought as Hermione walked up to them. She smiled softly at him, which was more than a surprise.  
  
“Hello, Malfoy,” she said, “are you coming to sit with us?” Draco’s heart stopped at those words. He looked back up at Harry. With a surge of unfounded courage, he asked, “Would that be alright with you?”  
  
Harry glanced over Draco’s shoulder, and his smile widened as he laughed. “You can even bring your friends,” he chuckled. Draco whipped his head back to look at his friends, only to see Blaise laughing at him and Pansy smiling wickedly. _I hate you,_ he thought, _I hate all of you._ But nonetheless, he waved his hand for his friends to come and join them. Turning back to Harry he said, “Thank you.” He and Hermione both smiled at him as they walked to the table on the opposite side of the Great Hall from Draco’s usual table.  
  
When Pansy, Blaise, and Theo sat down, they made sure to have Draco next to Harry. But Draco noticed that Harry seemed to be down a friend.  
  
“Where’s Weasley at?” he asked.  
  
Hermione looked down at her hands as she replied, “We had a bit of what you could call, a falling-out, this morning. He’ll come around, though.” Draco nodded in understanding, he’d had more than his fair share of fights with his friends in past years.  
  
“Well,” he started, pointing at each of his friends in turn, “that’s Pansy, Blaise, and that’s Theo.”  
  
“How have your guys’ classes been?” Harry asked the group.  
  
“Oh,” Pansy interjected, “they were just fine until Draco made us late to first hour this morning.” Draco groaned, knowing what was coming next. _Not in front of Harry, come on Pansy, anyone but Harry_.  
  
“You guys have to wait for me,” Blaise whined in a lousy imitation of Draco’s voice, “I’m not finished doing my hair, or using my lotions. Oh! I forgot about my scents, you guys I swear I’m almost done, just five more minutes, I promise!”  
  
_Oh my hell,_ was Draco’s only thought as their whole group laughed, Draco could even feel Harry’s shoulders shaking next to him. Draco hid his face in his hands and practically hunched over himself.  
  
He felt Harry lean closer from beside him. When he whispered, Draco could feel Harry’s warm, peppermint breath on his ear, his neck, “It’s okay, you know. I think you smell wonderful.” Harry paused as if gathering his own composure. “I have a football game later today. You should come, it’ll be a close game.”  
  
When Draco looked up, Harry’s eyes were sparkling, and there was a daring smile set upon his lips. Those lips that Draco couldn’t seem to stop glancing at.  
  
“Okay,” was the only reply he could manage with how overloaded his head had become. 

***

Harry was running on air, sprinting through the clouds. Not literally, of course. At the moment he was running off the football field, drenched in sweat and what he was sure was a stupid grin plastered on his face.  
  
Harry had been right, the game against Durmstrang academy had been a close one. But Hogwarts had won. _Harry_ had made the winning shot in those last few seconds that had won them the game.  
  
And then he saw the face he was looking for. Draco’s face. He was in the bottom row of the stands, closest to the field. Harry was sure that his grin widened as they made eye contact, and Draco started making his way down to the field. Harry didn’t even notice that Pansy and Blaise had been next to Draco.  
  
Harry ran in his direction, and only stopped once he was right in front of the other boy.  
  
“_Harry_, that was amazing, I can’t believe-”  
  
“Do you want to go out with me?” Harry interrupted, the words having leaped from his mouth without his own consent. The adrenaline was still rushing through his veins, his chest was heaving with hard breaths.  
  
Draco’s eyes went wide, and the blush that Harry loved rushed to his ears.  
  
“I-I, yeah. Yeah, I would really like that, Harry.”  
  
_Yes! Yes, yes, yes!_ He chanted in his mind. If possible, he beamed even brighter.  
  
“Okay,” he started, mesmerized by those beautiful, enchanting grey eyes, “okay, I have to go, but I’ll text you, okay?”  
  
Draco nodded with a smile on his lips as well. 

***

Draco hadn’t touched this particular case in months. He’d hidden it under his bed, there was a slight film of dust on it. But on this particular day, he’d finally felt that familiar spark in his hands, finally felt some form of inspiration.  
  
As he opened the case, the familiar smell of paper, ink, pencils, and all his other supplies infiltrated his nose. And as he finally set pencil to paper, he started to draw again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you guys liked this! As always, constructive criticism, comments, kudos, etc. are always welcome and soo appreciated! Thanks so much for reading!


	6. Soap & Scents Essential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco hadn’t anticipated the feel of Harry’s hand on his wrist. He hadn’t anticipated how it would feel to have any part of his body so close to Harry’s lips, the warmth of his breath on his skin. He hadn’t prepared for the way Harry’s eyes darkened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that this chapter is late, I had such a crazy weekend, with Thanksgiving coming up and all, I just didn't have a whole lot of time to write this chapter. So, to make up for it, this chapter is almost four thousand words long, and I have no idea how it happened, but it did. A few things before you read, I've decided that trying to make things in this piece as British English as possible leaves me with a lot of inconsistencies, and those are driving me crazy, so I've just decided to stick with what I know. The other thing is that I've discovered that I get a surge of happiness whenever I get comments, so please let me know what you think!

_Harry: **Hey, does tomorrow work for you?**_  
  
_Draco: **Yeah**_  
  
_Draco: **Where might you be taking me?**_  
  
Draco was at his desk, a smile creeping over his face despite knowing that Blaise would soon see it and interrogate him again. Harry had just texted him like he’d said he would; Draco couldn’t even wait the standard five minutes before replying to seem like he hadn’t been waiting for Harry to message him.  
  
Which he surprisingly hadn’t. He’d been too engrossed in his pencils, charcoals, his brushes, and paints. His hands were mindlessly swishing across the paper with familiar movements, the images coming to life before his eyes. Looking at his multiple papers now, he saw different renderings of the same pair of green eyes. Whether that be on the lion he’d used his watercolors for, the snake he’d used his charcoals on, everything had that same shade of shining green eyes.  
  
He had only failed to capture the emotions that those green eyes always carried. Draco knew that he’d never be able to get them right unless he was looking at those eyes while he drew them. He just didn’t know what Harry would think if he saw Draco’s hands in action.  
  
Draco’s phone pinged.  
  
_Harry: **It’s a surprise**_  
  
_Harry: **You okay with that?**_  
  
Draco’s smile widened into a full-blown grin. He stood from his desk chair, pacing before he responded.  
  
_Draco: **I suppose. How are we getting to this mysterious place?**_  
  
He tried to resist the urge. He really did. Nonetheless, Draco sighed dramatically and fell onto his bed, clutching his cell to his chest and gazing at the ceiling of his dorm with a dreamy expression on his face. He couldn’t stop beaming.  
  
“Someone’s on cloud nine, eh?” Blaise said from the doorway. Draco didn’t even bother moving to look at him. Instead, he closed his eyes and let out what must have been the most pathetic sounding high-pitched sigh he’d ever made. He could practically feel Blaise’s eyebrows shoot up. He felt the bed dip down with his weight as Blaise sat on the bed next to where Draco had flopped on it.  
  
Just then, the cell pinged again.  
  
_Harry: **I have a car my godfather helped me buy, it’s in the school’s garage**_  
  
“Harry asked me out.”  
  
“Like, on a date?”  
  
“On a date.”  
  
Blaise hesitated. “I’m getting Pansy.”  
  
And so he did. The moment Pansy walked into the dormitory she said, “Spill everything. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner!” Theo walked in behind her, a grin splitting his normally serene face. They all piled onto Draco’s bed despite there being three others in the room, looking at him with expectant faces. “Well?” Pansy said, waving her hands for Draco to get on with the details.  
  
Sitting up and feeling his heart fluttering in his chest, he quickly messaged Harry back.  
  
_Draco: **What time were you thinking?**_  
  
“So, after the football game last night,” Draco recounted, taking a deep breath, “Harry asked me out on a date-” Pansy squealed loudly even though she already knew this part, “-and that’s pretty much it. I told him I would love to.”  
  
“Hold up,” Blaise said, “this doesn’t explain why you were falling over yourself, nearly swooning when I first came here,” he mimed fainting over Theo, who started snickering. Blaise stayed there as he continued, “I’m not even kidding, he literally fell on the bed, sighing like a Disney Princess with hearts in his eyes.”  
  
“I did not!” Draco protested, his face flushing and his hands fidgeting.  
  
“Draco, sweetie, we both know you did,” Pansy chuckled.  
  
“I just,” Draco hesitated, “I just really like him, you know? And he likes me, and this is the first time that this has happened to me.”  
  
All three of them made that weird ascending noise people make when they saw something cute, and practically piled on top of him in what was supposed to resemble a group hug, but turned into more of a dog pile. Draco felt warm with all of them cuddling him, a soft smile on his lips.  
  
“I’m gonna kill him if he hurts you,” Theo threatened, squeezing Draco a little tighter for a second. The blond boy rolled his eyes but felt complete knowing that his friends would be there for him.  
  
“When are you guys going out?” Pansy asked.  
  
As if in answer, Draco’s phone pinged.  
  
_Harry: **Around noon? I’ll pick you up at your common room**_  
  
_Draco: **That sounds amazing :)**_  
  
“Tomorrow around noon. And before you ask, no, I don’t know what we’re doing, he said it’s a surprise.” Just as he finished, Theo snatched at Draco’s hands, lifting them up for the other two to see.  
  
“Look!” he exclaimed, “Look at his hands! Draco, have you started drawing again?”  
  
Both Pansy and Blaise gasped, both reaching for his hands.  
  
“Yeah, I guess I just… felt like doing it again.”  
  
“That’s amazing!” Blaise was smiling like a lunatic. Pansy gave Draco one last squeeze before she disentangled herself from the three boys, yawning. “I’m not supposed to be here in the first place, but all of this is amazing Draco. And you’re not allowed to leave for that date without telling me first!” Pansy stopped at the doorway, sending them one last smile before she left for the girls’ dormitories.  
  
Both Blaise and Theo left the bed after she did, and all three of them got ready for bed before Draco laid back down in his bed, looking forward to his Saturday afternoon with Harry with a smile on his face. 

***

Harry wouldn’t admit he was nervous. For the most part, he wasn’t. For the most part, he was sure that Draco would love what he had planned. There was just a small part of his brain that was worried Draco would absolutely _hate_ it. He was just slightly afraid that conversation would run slow and become awkward, despite the fact that their conversation on the airplane hadn’t been like that. It had been easy and fun.  
  
Harry just hoped that it would be like that again.  
  
He reached Draco’s common room door and- taking a deep breath- knocked. It opened almost instantaneously, and Harry was met with none other than Pansy Parkinson and her assessing gaze. Harry smiled, having expected no less.  
  
“Hello, Pansy. I hope you’re well?” Harry asked.  
  
She sniffed in a sarcastic manner. “Well enough.”  
  
“That’s good, I suppose,” he paused when Theodore Nott came up behind Pansy with a slight scowl on his face, “Is Draco in?”  
  
“I’ll go and let him know you’re here,” Pansy said, leaving Harry with Theo.  
  
Harry had anticipated the speech to come before Theo even started it. He’d spent all night trying to mentally prepare himself for it, because he knew what, or who, it would remind him of.  
  
“Listen up, Harry,” Theo began, disdain dripping off his lips with his words, “If you hurt him—if a single _hair on his head is out of place_, I will rip you to pieces. If he comes back here anything other than absolutely content and happy, you’ll live to regret it. Don’t play with him, this is important to him, and he’s a better person than you could ever hope to find yourself with.”  
  
Harry tried for a smile, but it was shaky at best. “I understand your concern, I really do. I would feel the same if it was my best friend. But I have no intention of hurting Draco. I like him, and I wouldn’t ever want to cause him pain or make him sad. I know that you’re not going to take me on my word for it. But I hope you’ll give me a chance before you attempt to murder me.”  
  
Theo wasn’t a small person, he was only a fraction of an inch shorter than Harry himself, and he wasn’t exactly weak. He would be a challenge for Harry, but Harry was confident that he was more capable than the other boy.  
  
Theo nodded at him and stepped aside in a move that Harry was sure they had planned, to reveal Draco. Harry let his eyes wander over the blond boy. He was wearing a pair of black jeans that had light destruction, and a pale green pullover shirt. His hair was slicked back as always, and he looked… beautiful (Harry knew that Draco would prefer to be called handsome, or even good-looking, but neither of those words did him justice. He was beautiful in the way he stood, the way his shoulders moved with his breath, the way his tongue wet his lips. He was absolutely, undeniably, irrevocably gorgeous).  
  
“Hey there,” Harry said with a sideways smile.  
  
“Hey there,” Draco responded.  
  
“Are you ready to go?”  
  
“Yeah, I think so. Am I going to need a jacket?”  
  
“No, no, I think you’ll be alright without one,” Harry looked at the others for the first time since he’d seen Draco, “Pansy, Theo, Blaise, it was nice seeing you all again. I’ll have Draco back before curfew.” Theo nodded at him, and Harry could tell that he would be the hardest of Draco’s friends to befriend himself.  
  
Draco, however, just walked towards Harry and out of the common room door with a wave to his friends and a casual “See you later” thrown over his shoulder. Harry followed after him. Harry could see Draco sneaking glances at him as they walked to the garage.  
  
“Do you really hate not knowing where we’re going?” Harry inquired, concerned that he may have crossed a line despite Draco having had said he was fine with it. He tried to catch Draco’s eye with his own, but the blond ducked his head as a flush crept up his neck at being caught. Harry smirked.  
  
“No, no, not really. I guess I just haven’t seen you out of school uniform since the airplane. You look… nice.”  
  
Harry laughed and smirked as he said, “What, do I not look as ‘nice’ in the school uniform, Draco?”  
  
The other boy’s mouth opened to argue, to protest, but his eyes widened as he realized that Harry was teasing. He looked down again and flushed even more as he said, “Shut up, Harry, you know what I meant.”  
  
They arrived at the garage, and Harry grazed Draco’s elbow to guide him toward the row his car was parked in. “Which one is yours?” Draco asked.  
  
“The black Camaro next to that orange van.”  
  
Harry saw Draco’s eyes widen as they got to the car; Harry knew it was nice, he’d been nearly shocked to death when Sirius surprised him with it on his fifteenth birthday when he wasn’t even allowed to drive it yet. It was an older model, from 1978, but he and Sirius had been able to fix it up into near perfect condition. It was one of his fondest memories of his godfather, who had become more of a father to him in the past three years he’d lived with him.  
  
Harry opened the door for Draco, who gave him a suffering look that said, _I’m not some petite damsel, Potter,_ but he got in the car nonetheless. 

***

Draco didn’t know what it was, but Harry was attractive even as he drove. Maybe it was the car. Yes, it was definitely the car. (It wasn’t the car. It was the way his sleeves were rolled up to reveal his forearms, corded with muscle. It was the way that Draco felt that Harry was paying attention to him even as he watched the road, the way he was almost reckless with his driving but Draco still felt perfectly safe. It was the excitement of not knowing what was at the end of the road, the anticipation of seeing what was next)  
  
“Can I at least guess where we’re going?” Draco asked, trying to fill the silence that had become deafening.  
  
Harry gave him a sideways glance, the corners of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “I suppose you may,” he teased. Draco only rolled his eyes in response. He looked out the window and thought for a moment.  
  
“Cinema?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
“Umm… lunch?”  
  
Harry seemed to hesitate. “Maybe after.”  
  
Draco opened his mouth to protest not being told, but then seemed to realize where they were. His mouth instead opened in a smile, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “You’re taking me to the department stores?” Harry looked over at him with an almost shy smile on his face before looking back at the road to pull into the parking garage.  
  
“Just a few that I figured you’d like.”  
  
“Oh? And what did you figure I would like?”  
  
“Just wait.”  
  
Harry got out of the car and opened Draco’s before brushing his elbow to lead him into the shopping center. Draco was too busy perusing the different stores to notice where the other boy was actually leading him to. All the bright lights and neon signs advertising different stores pulled his attention everywhere at once. He smelled it before he saw it.  
  
Draco stopped at the entrance to his _heaven._ His favorite store, Soap & Scents Essential. His mouth dropped open. He grabbed for Harry’s arm and gripped it with disbelief, he knew his eyes were wide as saucers, his father _never let him come here._ “How did you even know?” Draco’s entire being _ached_ to go inside and smell and sample _everything._ He somehow managed to tear his eyes away from the gateway to paradise to look at the boy who had brought him to it.  
  
“Pansy said you liked your lotions and such, so I brought you to the best ones. I figured you’d like it,” Harry’s brow furrowed, and Draco could feel his arms tense under his hands, “Do you? Like it, I mean.”  
  
“Yes! Yes, of course, I do, Harry!” A thought entered Draco’s mind that made him hesitate to enter the store. “But Harry, how on earth are we paying for any of this?”  
  
Harry scoffed, “We? No, Draco, I asked you out. I’m paying.” A smile split his lips as he ushered Draco inside. The smell hit him like a wall as soon as he crossed the threshold, his eyes closed as he tried to take everything in.  
  
“Go crazy,” Harry said. 

  
  


Draco went crazy. He smelled everything he could get his hands on, sampled every lotion he set his eyes on, examined every hair product, inspected every skincare application. He still had some part of his logical mind working, so he tried to narrow down what he actually chose for Harry to buy.  
  
He’d gone into overdrive, his senses taking over him. Draco had no idea how much Harry had paid for everything, he’d been too busy fantasizing about using all his new products every morning.  
  
There was one cologne he was absolutely obsessed with. He had spritzed it on his wrist, turned to Harry and squealed, “Smell this and tell me it isn’t the most amazing thing you’ve ever smelled!” Draco hadn’t anticipated the feel of Harry’s hand on his wrist. He hadn’t anticipated how it would feel to have any part of his body so close to Harry’s lips, the warmth of his breath on his skin. He hadn’t prepared for the way Harry’s eyes darkened as he said, “That is definitely the most amazing thing I’ve ever smelled. Which one is it?” Draco had weakly gestured to a bottle in the shopping bag.  
  
“Oh, you’re definitely getting that one.”  
  
Harry had been so sweet throughout; he’d carried all of Draco’s things, smelled everything he’d been told to smell, sampled every lotion he’d been told to sample, and Draco had felt strangely comfortable ordering him about. He hadn’t felt judged, or self-conscious. He’d felt… safe.  
  
“I can’t believe you let me stay in there for four hours,” Draco said as they got in Harry’s car.  
  
“As if you would have let me drag you out!” Harry laughed, starting the car. “Do you want to get a late lunch or something?”  
  
“No, no I’ll hold out until dinner. Besides, I don’t think I could live with myself if I let you buy anything else for me,” Draco said dramatically.  
  
Harry snickered and reached across the console to hold Draco’s hand. Draco’s heart stuttered. He could feel the heat rushing to his face, he ducked his head in an attempt to hide both the blush and the smile that crept across his face. _He’s holding my hand._ Harry Potter _is holding my hand. Voluntarily._  
  
“You know, you’re adorable when you blush.”  
  
Draco looked up to see Harry’s gaze switching between him and the road.  
  
“Are you flirting with me, Potter?”  
  
“Are you only just now noticing?”  
  
Draco closed his mouth and knew that the flush had spread to his chest. Harry laughed, squeezing his hand slightly to let him know he meant it good-heartedly. They spent the rest of the drive in comfortable silence as Draco traced shapes on Harry’s palm. (He was mesmerized by the warm brown tone of his skin, the calluses on his fingers. He loved the lines on his palm, and he couldn’t help imagining what it might feel like to have those hands on his face, his waist, his skin in general. He couldn’t help but imagine how it must feel like to have those hands in his hair, to have them caressing his face)  
  
Harry parked the car in the school’s garage, and this time Draco opened his own door before Harry could get there. Harry had the bags in one hand, and grasped Draco’s in the other, their hands swinging slightly between them.  
  
“So, did you have fun, at least?” Harry asked.  
  
“At _least?_” Draco was nearly dumbfounded. “No, Harry, I just felt like spending _four hours_ in boredom, suffering for your sake, surrounded by vile smells and horrible-”  
  
“Alright, alright, I get it!” Harry chuckled.  
  
Draco looked over at him and bumped his shoulder with his own, more like the middle of his upper arm, if he were being honest with himself, and murmured, “I had fun, Harry. I really liked being with you today.”  
  
Harry looked back at him, and asked, “Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Me too.”  
  
They had arrived at Draco’s common room door. Draco didn’t want Harry to leave, he wanted for him to say more about how he loved spending time with Draco, more about how he wanted to do this again, more about how he couldn’t bear to cut the day short.  
  
“Will you help me carry these to my room?” Draco knew he was blushing. He also knew that there was nothing he could do about it at this point; he may as well get used to it now.  
  
“Y-yeah of course,” Harry responded, letting go of Draco’s hand so he could take the bags in both hands while Draco opened the door. He immediately missed Harry’s hand in his own. However, the moment he opened the door, he was bombarded by his friends. Pansy stopped at the sight of Harry, who had entered the common room with slight hesitation. Draco knew why after he caught sight of Theo, who had a look on his face that was both suspicious and nearly murderous. Draco sent him a warning glare that Harry didn’t see. He hoped it conveyed the message, _Don’t you dare ruin this for me you git, he just held my hand._  
  
“Harry’s just going to bring these up to the dorm with me,” Draco said, cutting off his friends before they could say anything stupid.  
  
Draco saw Harry nod at his friends before he grabbed his elbow to lead him up to the dorm room. As soon as he opened the door, he felt a little embarrassed. Draco’s corner of the room was almost immaculate due to the cleaning habits he’d had ingrained into him from his mother, but Theo’s was a mess, and Draco’s sketchbook and supplies were still on his desk.  
  
Draco gestured to the foot of the bed for Harry to set the bags down before slowly making his way to his desk, trying to put the drawings away before Harry could see them.  
  
It didn’t work.  
  
“Did you… Did you make those?” Harry asked, his voice sounded amazed. _He can’t be amazed. These are amateur at best._  
  
“Um, y-yeah, yeah I did.”  
  
“Can I see?” Harry asked with an uncertain voice. Draco’s hands were shaking a little as he handed Harry the sketchbook, waiting for the scoffing voice his father always gave him. Instead, Harry’s eyes went wide as he examined every page. He looked up and said, “Draco, these are _amazing_, they’re _incredible_. I can barely even draw a stick figure; these are-”  
  
Draco didn’t know how he’d gathered up the courage to do it, but hearing those words fall from Harry’s mouth must have pushed him.  
  
Draco had basically grabbed Harry’s face and pulled him down to cover his mouth with his own. Harry seemed to freeze before he realized that Draco was kissing him. It took _Draco_ a moment to realize that Draco was kissing _Harry_. One of Harry’s hands came up to hold Draco’s face, and it felt even better than Draco had imagined. Harry’s lips were soft and full, and gentle as they moved against Draco’s own. The blond could feel himself melting against the bigger boy’s body, coming in closer to close the gap between them.  
  
Draco made a small noise in the back of his throat when Harry’s hand slid into his hair. He could feel the warmth of Harry’s body seeping into his own through his sweater, he could feel Harry’s lips moving against his own in a delicate manner as if he were afraid that Draco would shatter if he kissed him too roughly.  
  
Draco finally ran out of air and had to pull back, keeping his eyes closed to savor the moment. He felt Harry lay his forehead against his own and smiled at the tender touch. He could smell the peppermint on Harry’s warm breath.  
  
“Do you want to come and sit with me at dinner?” Harry asked in a soft voice as if he was reluctant to make too much noise and break the silence. Draco could feel the grin splitting his face as he replied, “I would love that.”  
  
Draco opened his eyes to see those green eyes he adored looking at him already. There was a sparkle in them that he hadn’t seen before.  
  
“I have a feeling that if we stay here any longer, Theo’s going to kill me,” Harry laughed before pulling away. Disappointment washed over Draco. But Harry leaned forward, and Draco thought that he was going for another kiss. But he kissed Draco’s cheek, lingering for a moment, as if loath to leave. Draco smiled tenderly at him as he pulled away and walked to the door, giving him a glance over his shoulder before he left.  
  
Draco didn’t even try to fight the urge. He collapsed onto his bed with a flushed face and a sigh that he was sure was still in hearing range to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it! I don't know how I feel about the kiss scene, I don't know if I wrote it well enough to really encompass what I had in mind... Let me know what you think in the comments! And you know, kudos are always amazing.


	7. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco furrowed his brow in concern. Harry sounded dejected, morose. As if someone had kicked his puppy and run away laughing. The sparkle that usually resided in his eyes had gone out, he looked exhausted, his shoulders were slumped and his smile was shaky at best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update?? So soon?? And almost four thousand words?? I mean, I guess so. This chapter just kind of came out, you know? With school out on Thanksgiving break, I actually had time to write. I hope you guys like it!

Harry had had a smile on his face throughout all his Monday morning classes. Dinner on Saturday evening had made everything just that much better. Draco had brought his friends to sit with him and Hermione, and everything had been perfect. Even when Harry had caught Ron glaring at all of them from down the table, Harry just intertwined his fingers with Draco’s under the table and watched him as he talked excitedly with his friends; he’d even talked to Hermione on more than one occasion. Draco’s hand was a little cold, but Harry didn’t mind.  
  
Harry could still feel Draco’s soft lips against his own, he had replayed the memory of the blond boy gripping his face to pull him down to kiss him throughout all his classes. Professor Snape had snapped at him more than once for being unattentive; Harry was sure he would fail the assignment he’d been given, he’d been too busy thinking about Draco to absorb any of the information. (Harry desperately wanted to feel those chilled hands in his hair, on his shoulders, everywhere. He wanted to kiss every inch of skin Draco would allow him to, he wanted to slide his hands under the other boy’s shirt, wanted to feel his breaths as they moved through his chest. He wanted, no, no he _needed_ to fill the gap between them, he needed to be touching him, and if not touching him, he needed to see him, memorize the lines of his face and the cut of his silhouette.)  
  
“Harry. _Harry._”  
  
Harry startled back to awareness, looking up at Hermione, who was standing next to his chair.  
  
“Class is over, Harry. You can stop fantasizing now,” Hermione teased, “We have to head to lunch now, you can ask Malfoy to sit with us again if you’re really so desperate.” Harry just smiled at her and jumped up from his seat, quickly gathered his things, and hurried out the door as Hermione linked elbows with him. There were only a few stragglers left in the hallways, making their way to lunch as well.  
  
“Really Harry, if you’re so obsessed with him, you may as well just ask him to be your boyfriend now,” Hermione advised.  
  
Harry just about skipped a step in his shock. Of course, he’d thought about it. He knew it was faster than most people’s relationships, but he also knew that he didn’t think he would ever be okay with anyone else touching Draco’s soft skin, or gazing at him with the adoration that Harry did. He wanted Draco to himself. He wanted to be the one that was on the receiving end of those soft kisses, wanted to be the one to make those stunning grey eyes glow with laughter.  
  
He just didn’t know if Draco wanted it too.  
  
“You don’t… you don’t think it's too soon? Like I might be pushing him into something?” Harry stopped for a moment before continuing, “I don’t want to do that to him, I don’t want to pressure him into being stuck with me, Hermione.”  
  
Hermione laid her head on his arm as they walked to the Great Hall. “Harry, there’s no such thing as being stuck with you. You aren’t going to shove him into the dark, love. Maybe it’s a little fast, but not every relationship is the same. And from what Pansy’s told me, Draco really likes you too. He was practically fawning over you yesterday after dinner.”  
  
“You talked with Pansy?”  
  
He looked down at Hermione only to see her looking up at him as well, her cheek a little squished against his arm. The sight made him smile with fond memories of when they were younger, and smaller, with fewer inhibitions.  
  
“We exchanged numbers after dinner last night. I suppose she wants to make friends,” He felt Hermione stiffen before she said, “You don’t think that Ron will ignore us much longer, do you? I tried to sit next to him in the common room yesterday while you were out with Draco, but he wouldn’t say anything to me. He wouldn’t even look at me, Harry. He’s being so… soo… argh!” She groaned. Harry leaned down and kissed her hair before murmuring, “I don’t know, ‘Mione. I haven’t talked to him since he… blew up at us. I don’t know what’s going on with him.”  
  
Hermione sighed. At long last, they reached the Great Hall, and the first person they both saw sitting at their table was a certain Ronald Weasley, who had his arms around Lavender Brown’s waist, and his tongue down her throat. Lavender’s hands were raking through his red hair in an almost animalistic manner.  
  
Hermione made a small squeaking, gasping, surprised noise that seemed to come out without her own consent. Her hands squeezed Harry’s arm so tightly he was sure she would cut off his circulation, but Harry didn’t think he would notice even if she did. He could feel her arms trembling, he could feel her breathing stutter from how closely she was pressed against him. She started tugging on his arm, trying to pull him back out into the hallway they had come from. He let her pull him along.  
  
Harry caught sight of Draco right before they left the doorway, the same second that those grey eyes caught him. Harry couldn’t even smile at him, or wave at him, his mind was too occupied with the scene he had just witnessed as he walked away. He somehow pressed Hermione closer to his body, ushering her back to their common room, which he was positive would be empty.  
  
He had known about Hermione’s feelings for Ron for the past two years. He had also known that Ron was completely oblivious, and hadn’t ever considered Hermione. Being stuck in the middle wasn’t Harry’s favorite place to be, but he loved both of his friends, and he didn’t want to break the bonds that kept them together. Plus, Hermione had sworn him to secrecy the moment he’d asked her about it.  
  
Harry could feel Hermione’s shoulders shaking with silent tears. He opened the door to the common room, and Hermione let out a loud, heartbreaking sob that made Harry pick her up bridal style and carry her over to one of the couches. She weighed almost nothing to him, but the gravity of her sorrow laid heavy on his shoulders. He sat on the couch with her in his lap, cradled against his chest. She was clutching at his shirt, heart-wrenching whimpers and sobs wracking through her entire body as Harry tried his best to soothe her with soft words and cooing noises that Hermione had used for him on more than one occasion, rubbing her back and clutching her body to his own.  
  
“Shh, love, I’m here, everything’s going to be just fine,” Harry stroked her curly hair, his lips against her forehead.  
  
Hermione eventually calmed down, a few hiccups escaping her mouth, her hands unclenching from Harry’s shirt.  
  
“Do you want me to go and get you some food from the kitchens?” Harry asked, his voice was gentle. He was friends with one of the nicest cooks there, Dobby, who pretty much let Harry in whenever he asked. He knew that Hermione had a Maths quiz today, and wouldn’t be able to concentrate if she didn’t eat something. But he was reluctant to leave her in the common room by herself.  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Hermione whispered. Harry kissed her forehead again before gingerly shifting her off of him and onto the couch as he stood up. “I’ll be right back, okay? I promise,” he stated in a firm but soft voice. She only nodded and squeezed his hand before he left for the kitchens.  
  
_I’m gonna kill him. He is_ so _dead. So, completely, dead._ Harry could only think of ways to murder Ron slowly, and Hermione laying curled on herself on the couch. He could feel his fists clenching with violence, his blood boiling, his jaw muscles fluttering.  
  
He didn’t notice Draco coming towards him until the shorter boy was right in front of him. “Harry, is everything alright?” Draco’s eyes took in all of him, flickering between Harry’s eyes and the rest of his body.  
  
Harry stopped, taking in the other boy’s appearance. His eyes were wide with concern, his lips were pressed together. Harry managed a weak smile for Draco’s benefit. “No, not exactly. I would love to explain everything to you right now,” Harry swooped in and brushed his lips against Draco’s cheek, gently taking his hand and kissing the back of it before continuing, “but I have to get to the kitchens and back to Hermione as fast as I can.”  
  
Draco opened his mouth to object, but seemed to understand Harry’s earnestness. Harry couldn’t even stop to admire the blossoming blush on Draco’s face before he said, “Meet me after class today, in the library. We can study together, and I’ll tell you everything, alright?” Draco nodded eagerly, and Harry smiled at him again, kissing his other cheek before taking off for the kitchens again.  
  
He made sure that no one was around when he entered one of the many secret passages he’d found over the years. 

By the time Harry got back to the common room with a basket of Hermione’s favorite foods, Hermione was still curled together on the couch, her back facing the door where Harry had entered. He rushed to her side and knelt by the couch, gently taking her shoulder and turning her to face him.  
  
Her eyes were puffy from tears, the tear-tracks still on her face. “It’s so stupid,” she whispered, her voice rough and cracking, “It’s so _stupid_, Harry. I’m crying over a boy I _knew_ would never see me that way. What was I _thinking_, Harry? How could I have been _so naive?_”  
  
“You’re not stupid, Hermione. You’re not,” Harry assured, his own throat clogging with tears as he picked her up again and sat back down on the couch with her against his chest. Her arms wound around his chest, her head in the crook of his neck. “Maybe…” Harry licked his lips, trying to decide whether to go on. “Maybe having feelings for him was a bad idea, but you’re not stupid, Hermione. It wasn’t exactly a choice you made.”  
  
Hermione nodded her head, but Harry wasn’t sure she was entirely convinced. He figured she wouldn’t be for a long while.  
  
“Do you want to go to the rest of your classes today?” he asked.  
  
Harry could almost hear the gears turning in her head, warring between her logical self and her emotionally wrecked self.  
  
“I’ll stay with you if you don’t want to go. I’m sure that Professor Vector will let you make up the quiz some other time, and I don’t think we’re doing anything important in History today,” Harry tried. He felt positive that if she took the quiz now, she wouldn’t be able to do her best work as usual.  
  
Hermione relaxed into him and said, “Yeah, yeah okay.” 

***

Draco had been uneasy since Harry had left him standing there in the hall. Harry had looked so angry, angrier than he had looked when Draco had talked to him in the changing rooms before he apologized to Hermione.  
  
_“I have to get to the kitchens and back to Hermione as fast as I can.”_ What was wrong with Hermione? He’d barely caught a glimpse of her hands around Harry’s arm, her body pressed tightly against his, before they had both been rushing away.  
  
He wasn’t jealous. He _wasn’t_.  
  
Pansy seemed to have caught on to his anxiousness when she jabbed him in the ribs in the middle of the lesson in English.  
  
“Ow!” Draco whisper-yelled, trying to keep the Professor from hearing them, “Pansy, what the bloody hell was that for?”  
  
“You’re worried about something. What is it?”  
  
“Really? You’re asking me in the middle of class?”  
  
“Yes. Now answer the question.”  
  
Draco looked at her with resentful fondness before he whispered, “I saw Harry at lunch today. He seemed… _really_ angry before I got to him, and when I asked him what was wrong, he said he couldn’t tell me. But he asked me to meet him in the library after class so we could study together and he would tell me then. He said something about needing to get back to Hermione.”  
  
Pansy looked confused. “So are you worried about him being angry, or meeting him in the library later? Or Hermione?”  
  
“I guess I’m worried about all of them,” Draco confessed, he looked down at his hands, then looked back up at Professor Babbling, who was still going on with an incredibly boring lecture that was supposed to be incredibly important.  
  
Pansy patted his shoulder and fell silent for the rest of the class. 

After class, Draco quickly grabbed his things and headed straight for the library, barely giving a farewell to his friends as he left. He tried not to appear too rushed to the students that were surely heading to their common rooms.  
  
He arrived at the library and weaved his way between the tables, chairs, and shelves until he caught sight of Harry, sitting at a table in the back, with his nose buried in a book. Draco slowed his pace so as not to appear too frantic. Harry seemed to have heard his steps and looked up, his glasses perched on his nose.  
  
“Why do you only wear glasses on some days, and not on others?” Draco asked as he approached, and sat down in the chair across the table from him. “How do you see without them?”  
  
Harry gave a feeble chuckle. “I have contact lenses. I just wear whatever I feel like day-to-day.”  
  
Draco furrowed his brow in concern. Harry sounded dejected, morose. As if someone had kicked his puppy and run away laughing. The sparkle that usually resided in his eyes had gone out, he looked exhausted, his shoulders were slumped and his smile was shaky at best. Draco reached across the table and interlaced his fingers with Harry’s as he said, “Harry, will you tell me what’s wrong?” Draco was certain that his hand fit perfectly in the other boy’s, and he immediately felt the warmth that seemed to constantly surround him.  
  
“I suppose I should just start at the beginning,” Harry said quietly, trying to prevent anyone from overhearing. “You know Ron, yeah?”  
  
Draco was quite confused, but replied, “Weasley? Yeah, I’ve seen him around, I suppose. Isn’t he the third member of your little trio?” Draco tried to lighten the atmosphere but gave up when he saw it did nothing for Harry.  
  
“Yeah, sort of. Um, the day after you apologized to Hermione, she and I talked to him about how you’d apologized, and she forgave you, and how I was interested in you,” Harry squeezed Draco’s hand as the blond went crimson, “but he… He wasn't exactly on board with the idea. He said some things, and I said some things, and Hermione and I haven’t talked to him since.”  
  
Draco immediately imagined smashing a chair over that red-headed weasel’s head. _He hurt Harry. He was supposed to be his friend, and he hurt him. He hurt_ my _Harry_. Draco was slightly shocked at his own thinking, the possessiveness that curled around his thoughts. But, he realized that he _wanted_ Harry to be his. He didn’t want anyone else holding his hand, he didn’t want anyone else touching his skin. He wanted to be _Harry’s_.  
  
“Okay, I can see that you’re upset about that, but that doesn’t explain why you were so angry today. You said something about needing to get back to Hermione?”  
  
Harry hesitated. Draco could see it in the way his shoulders stiffened slightly, the way he clenched Draco’s hand just a little bit tighter.  
  
“Can you keep a secret? Like, you can’t even tell your friends, because Hermione would kill me if she knew I told anyone,” Harry said, his voice had turned more serious, his eyes beseeching.  
  
Draco nodded his head almost violently, wanting more than anything at that moment for Harry to trust him with whatever it was that had caused him to look so conflicted at lunch.  
  
Harry seemed to search his eyes before speaking. “Hermione has had… feelings, I guess you could say, for Ron for a couple of years now. But he’s never really caught on to it, never even thought of Hermione that way. But today, we walked into the Great Hall and Ron was,” Harry paused, looking at the ceiling and letting out an almost disbelieving almost-laugh before looking back at Draco and continuing, “He was making out with Lavender Brown.”  
  
“Lavender Brown?!” Draco restrained himself from yelling, knowing that Madam Pince would kick them out if he was too loud. He knew his eyes were wide, his mouth dropped open. Lavender Brown was well known for being extremely possessive of her boyfriends—when she got them—and being hostile towards anyone who came too close to them for her taste. Draco couldn’t believe that Weasley had gone for it, even if it was supposed to be a form of payback against Harry and Hermione.  
  
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Anyway, Hermione was really hurt and upset, so I took her back to our common room and went to get her lunch from the kitchens. We ended up skipping the rest of our classes. She fell asleep about an hour ago, so I carried her to her dorm room.”  
  
Draco was hit with an entirely new kind of fondness for Harry. (He had a heart that must have taken up all the space in his broad chest. His compassion must have filled the space in his bones where marrow was supposed to reside. His empathy ran in his veins, his passion burned in his lungs.)  
  
“That’s awful, Harry. I’m so sorry,” Draco gave Harry’s hand a squeeze, and tried to give him a reassuring smile. He took Harry’s hand and started tracing shapes on his palm.  
  
“You don’t need to apologize, Draco. I’m happy I can talk to you about it, really.”  
  
Draco felt himself smile and felt the mood lighten when he looked up to see Harry gazing at him with something akin to affection in his eyes. At least, Draco _hoped_ it was affection. He hoped that Harry would keep telling him things, that he would continue to trust him with the things he couldn’t tell anyone else.  
  
“Tell me something. Something about your friends, your family. Anything,” Harry requested. Draco was slightly taken aback but understood why he wanted it. Harry didn’t know his friends very well, and Draco was sure that Harry thought Theo hated him, Pansy was on the fence, and Blaise just didn’t care either way. Draco knew better.  
  
“Well, my father, as you know, isn’t my favorite person. But my mother- my mother is definitely my favorite person. She’s wonderful and has always supported me, even if she had to do it silently. She’s always been very clever in getting around my father’s disapproving glares,” Draco laughed, thinking about the smirk his mother would give him after outwitting his father.  
  
“I met Pansy when we were ten. She accused me of stealing her hair ribbons,” Draco chuckled, remembering how angry she had been, calling him a thief and a scoundrel. “Even though I hadn’t done it, I’d felt so awful for her that I asked my mother to pick out some new ribbons for me to give to her. She wouldn’t leave me alone afterward, so we just kind of stuck together.”  
  
“You know, you’re cute when you laugh,” Harry grinned.  
  
Draco felt the heat in his face but decided to retaliate. “Of course I am, I’m absolutely mesmerizing in anything I do, Potter.”  
  
Harry nearly snorted with how hard he laughed, and Draco beamed at him, amazed at the fact that _he_ had been able to make him smile, _he_ had been able to make him laugh.  
  
Harry reached over the table to hold both of Draco’s hands, his smile turned a little nervous, his eyes bore into Draco’s.  
  
“Can I ask you something?”  
  
Draco immediately tensed, expecting the worst.  
  
“It’s nothing bad, I promise!” Harry laughed, having seen Draco stiffen. “It’s just, Hermione was saying something earlier, and it got me thinking… Do you, um… Would you want to be my boyfriend?”  
  
His heart stuttered. The world stopped spinning. Everything just… froze.  
  
Harry seemed to sense the stopping, as he started nervously rambling, “I know it’s pretty fast, really fast, actually, but I just thought that maybe it was something you wanted because Pansy told Hermione that you really liked me and she told me that I should stop fantasizing and just ask you and oh my hell this was such a bad idea.”  
  
Draco stood from his chair and walked around the table to stand in front of Harry, which seemed to effectively shut him up.  
  
“Harry, please, just shut up,” Draco laid his hand on Harry’s shoulder, collecting every ounce of his daring before asking, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”  
  
He saw Harry’s throat move with how hard he swallowed before he answered, “Yeah, yes, I really want that.”  
  
Draco practically beamed down at the other boy, for once taller than him.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Harry stood up. “Okay?”  
  
“I would really love to be your boyfriend, Harry. And I would really love it if you were mine.”  
  
Draco had never felt so warm than he did when Harry clutched him to his chest and wrapped his arms around the smaller blond. Draco wound his arms around the other boy’s body, trying to take in all the heat from his body. He could feel Harry’s heart beating in his chest, he could hear it, he felt his chest moving with heavy and almost laborious breaths.  
  
“You scared the hell outta me,” Harry whispered in Draco’s ear, realizing that they were still in the library. Draco only buried himself further into Harry’s body as an apology instead. The shorter boy felt him pressing a kiss to his temple, his hair, there was a kiss on his cheek, and a hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.  
  
Draco pulled back so he was facing Harry, who smiled at him. Harry leaned forward slowly as if to give Draco time to pull away. Instead, he leaned forward to meet him in the middle.  
  
Harry kissed him like he was afraid he would fly away. One of his hands was on his waist, bringing his body closer, the other was in Draco’s hair, gently playing with the strands. Both of Draco’s hands moved to Harry’s shoulders, around his neck, into his hair, trying to press himself as tightly as he could. Harry’s lips were pressing against his own with a delicate kind of ferocity. Harry’s lips left his mouth, traveling across his cheek, stopping to mouth at his jaw. He kissed under his ear, then came back to kiss his lips again. Draco’s mind was full of Harry, his smell, his taste, his warmth, the feel of his surprisingly soft hair, the feeling of his chest against his own. Draco was drowning in him, and he couldn’t think of any other place he’d rather be.  
  
Until Madam Pince coughed from a few feet behind them.  
  
“Boys, this is most certainly not the place for these activities. So, unless you plan on putting your brains to use, I suggest you leave.”  
  
She walked away in the direction of her desk.  
  
Harry dropped his head onto Draco’s shoulder, his breathing a little off-kilter, and then started laughing. Draco didn’t even have the chance to regain his breath before he began chuckling, only half trying to keep it quiet since they were in the library.  
  
Harry pulled away, taking both of Draco’s hands in his own, kissing them gently.  
  
“You have no idea how unbelievably happy I am right now,” Harry said kissing Draco’s forehead. He started leaving tiny kisses all over Draco’s face, little pecks that made Draco giggle and smile like a lunatic. His entire being felt warm, he was used to feeling cold, but he felt _so warm._  
  
“I think I do, Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, I hope you liked it! I seriously get so excited when I get comments, it's ridiculous, but I love getting feedback and hearing what you think. So, comment, kudos, advice, I love it all! Thanks a ton for reading!


	8. Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco snuggled in closer to Harry, laying his head on his shoulder and against his neck. He could already feel the contentment spreading in his chest, the warmth seeping through his skin, sleep pressing heavy on his eyelids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it feels like I haven't updated in forever... oops. But, I knew I wouldn't be able to update this Saturday with all my family plans going on, so I decided to do it today. Hope you guys like it!

The past two and a half weeks had been complete _heaven_ for Harry. They had been full of hand-holding and laughter, tender forehead kisses and heads on shoulders. Those almost-three weeks had been packed with smiles and sitting together at lunch. They were filled with lively banter and soft gazes and golden blushes.  
  
Harry had managed to get closer to all of Draco’s friends. He’d learned that Pansy loved the color green and giving surprisingly sound advice, that Blaise had a younger brother and sister-twins-that he absolutely adored. He’d managed to worm his way through Theo’s tough shell, and now shared a smile and a wave whenever he saw the other boy.  
  
He’d been getting better grades thanks to the help of his boyfriend (_Boyfriend._ Harry could still hardly believe that the beautiful blond boy he’d met on a late-night plane had become his boyfriend. Although Draco still managed to use Harry’s shoulder as a pillow at breakfast, and whenever else they had the chance to sit down together, Harry felt that they had come a long way in such a short time. He knew that the progression of their relationship was fast, he _knew_, but he couldn’t help but feel it was right). Draco was a sponge, soaking up every piece of information he was given, whether it be about English, history, or astronomy.  
  
Harry hadn’t had a chance to see his boyfriend in four days. Coach Hooch had been working the football team overtime to prepare for the game against Beauxbatons Institute. They’d had practice after classes, before classes, and Coach had ordered all teammates to spend lunch working out and going over strategy for the game, in hopes that they wouldn’t lose this time. Harry was drained. What little free time he had was spent doing homework or sleeping. He knew that Hooch would lay off eventually, she couldn’t overwork them or they’d be too beat to play, but he wished she would do it sooner.  
  
Harry dropped down from the pull-up bar, surveying the rest of the gym to make sure none of his teammates were slacking off. He knew that they were all tired, _he_ was tired, that they had been at this since classes ended when they should’ve been enjoying their Friday night. But if Coach walked in and saw idle bodies, the blame would fall on Harry’s shoulders.  
  
The same shoulders that _just wanted to take a nap_.  
  
Luckily for him, and the rest of the football team, Coach Hooch walked in, blowing her neon orange whistle to get their attention. “Alright, you sweaty pigs, you’re off for the night,” at this, there were several sighs of relief and exhaustion among the already heavy breathing, “and take the weekend to rest up before we get started again Monday afternoon.” Here there were mixed signals, hollers of joy for the weekend, and groans at the mention of Monday.  
  
Harry felt the relief in his bones. Angelina Johnson, his best centerfield, whacked his arm as she walked with him towards the locker rooms. “Any plans for the weekend?” she asked with a tired smile on her face, a sheen of sweat over her face.  
  
Harry ran a hand through his hair and down his face as he replied, “Sleep, Angie, _sleep_. And homework. And then more sleep.”  
  
“Oh? No plans with that new boyfriend of yours?”  
  
She sent him a parting smirk before departing for the girls’ locker room, leaving Harry to laugh to himself. He took out his phone from his shorts, looking at his screensaver—a picture Hermione took of Draco and himself, Harry kissing Draco’s cheek as the blond boy laughed—for a moment before sending a message to his ‘new boyfriend’.  
  
_Harry: **Just got let off. You free?**_  
  
The response was almost instantaneous as Harry opened his locker.  
  
_Draco: **It’s about time. Of course I’m free. I’ve been free for the past four days**_  
  
Harry knew that Draco was slightly upset at Harry’s absence in recent days, but he also knew—or hoped—that Draco wasn’t really _angry_ with him.  
  
Harry: I’ll be at your common room as soon as I can  
  
Harry waited a moment for a reply to come, but when nothing appeared, he sighed in resignation, stashed his phone in his locker before grabbing his towel and turning on the shower water. 

***

Draco knew he was being slightly unreasonable. He was well aware that Harry was captain of the football team and therefore couldn’t miss practices or meetings. He knew that Harry wanted to be with him as much as Draco wanted to be with Harry.  
  
That didn’t mean he had to be _happy_ about it.  
  
In fact, his distress over the situation is what made him walk into the boys’ locker room, hoping that Harry would be the last one left. The locker room was fogged with clouds of steam, his nose was immediately assaulted by all the different cologne, body spray, and deodorant scents lingering from their users. At this point, it wasn’t so much a specific scent as an unidentifiable smell.  
  
Draco turned to the next row of lockers to find Harry standing at his open locker, his hair damp and dressed only in sweatpants. This time, however, Harry seemed to hear him before Draco could get a close view of his back. And the scars that laced it. He turned around, every movement looked slow and aching. Draco walked to his boyfriend (Draco’s heart still skipped a beat when he thought that word to himself, or when he heard it out loud. Harry Potter was his _boyfriend_) and stood before him with his hands on his hips, what he hoped was a stern expression upon his face.  
  
The bigger boy simply gave him a soft smile and wrapped his arms around the blond. Draco’s brain went haywire. He was touching Harry’s bare chest. He was being held against Harry’s brown, muscled, slightly damp, bare chest. His skin was even warmer without the barrier of clothes between them. The shorter boy could smell the soap on his ridiculously smooth skin. Harry’s body felt like silk-covered steel, soft to the touch but hard and strong underneath. Draco let his arms come around Harry—but felt him stiffen when he touched his back. Draco almost pulled away in fear that he may have crossed a boundary, but Harry quickly relaxed again and only pulled Draco closer to him, pressing a kiss under his ear that made the smaller boy lightly shudder.  
  
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I haven’t had time for you lately,” Harry whispered softly, his peppermint breath caressing Draco’s ear, his neck.  
“It’s not your fault, Harry. I’m just being clingy.”  
  
He felt Harry’s smile against his cheek. “You can be clingy all you like.”  
  
Harry pulled away first, kissing Draco’s forehead before turning back to his locker to grab a t-shirt. “Didn’t I tell you I would meet you at your common room?”  
  
Draco flushed and looked down at his fumbling hands as he answered, “I didn’t want to wait that long to see you.” Harry pulled the shirt over his head, ruffling his already messy hair. He grabbed a gym bag from the locker before closing it and turning back to face Draco.  
  
“Well,” Harry said, a smirk on his face as he entwined his fingers with Draco’s, “no more waiting. I am all yours for the entire weekend.”  
  
“Hooch let the team have the weekend off?” Draco asked in surprise. He’d half expected to not see Harry until the game with Beauxbatons was over and won. It only contributed to Draco’s dissatisfaction over the entire situation.  
  
“And half of Monday,” Harry slung the gym bag over his shoulder, drew Draco closer to tuck him into his side, then started leading him out of the locker room. “So,” Harry started, “tonight, we’re just grabbing some food from the kitchens and relaxing because I don’t think I have the energy to do anything else, baby.”  
  
Draco turned scarlet every time his boyfriend used a pet name. But oh, he _loved_ to hear them fall from his lips, like honey pouring in his ear, pleasure overflowing his senses. (But deeper than that, he felt that the pet-names were _more_. They meant that Harry intended to stay, to stick around. They meant that Draco was wanted, maybe even _needed_. Hopefully.)  
  
“That sounds amazing,” Draco replied softly. Harry hummed in acknowledgment before they fell into a comfortable silence all the way to Harry’s common room, passing a few dawdling students in the hallway.  
  
Draco followed Harry into the common room and into Harry’s dorm, where the bigger boy stashed his gym bag under his bed. And then promptly flopped onto said bed, an arm thrown over his face, the other reaching for Draco; who then hastily took Harry’s hand and crawled across the sheets-which were nowhere near as silky as Draco’s own-to curl into the bigger boy’s body, trying to absorb the heat he always seemed to emanate. Those green eyes were only inches, if that, from his own, hooded and heavy and exhausted. Everything smelled like Harry, Draco was swimming, drowning in his scent, an intoxicating combination of peppermint, orange, and vanilla.  
  
“I missed you too, you know,” Harry said, sliding his arms under and over Draco’s body, bringing him close enough so that if Draco shifted his head forward the tiniest bit, their noses would be touching. His hand was rubbing circles into Draco’s back, making him feel drowsy as well. “It was nearly impossible to concentrate on those strategy meetings, you were constantly on my mind.”  
  
Those green eyes regained a remnant of wakefulness when Draco lightly kissed Harry’s nose, a wide smile on his lips and scarlet staining his ears. “I believe you mentioned something about food earlier?” Draco quipped. Harry laughed airily, tiredly.  
  
“Yes, yes, the food is on its way.”  
  
Draco’s brow furrowed in bewilderment until the door opened and a familiar voice said, “Just so we’re clear, Harry, I’m only doing this because I know you’re exhausted.” Draco looked over his shoulder to see Hermione, holding a basket, an amused smile plastered on her face despite her words. “Draco, nice to see that you’ve finished your complaining over not seeing Harry.” Draco returned with a playful glare, huffing at her.  
  
In the past few weeks, Draco had become closer with Hermione, trading information about classes while also exchanging good-natured banter. He’d learned that she was overwhelmingly smart; if he had been less proud, he would have admitted that she outranked even him as the best student of their year. She always had an answer for everything, and in those rare cases she didn’t, Hermione researched and swam through the information until she found one that satisfied her.  
  
Harry reached over Draco to grab the basket and place it on the other side of the bed.  
  
“Hermione, have I ever told you how amazing you are?” Harry said in jest. Hermione snickered as she flipped her curly hair over her shoulder and replying, “No, I don’t believe you have. Now would be the perfect time to do so.” She made to walk out the door before Harry gasped and said in a rush, “Wait, wait, wait!”  
  
Hermione turned back around. “What?”  
  
“Will you hand me my laptop from the drawer in my nightstand?”  
  
Harry grinned as she gave a long-suffering sigh. “You’re lucky I love you, Harry Potter.” Draco felt a twinge in his chest, he knew it was stupid, she didn’t mean it like _that_, but the thought, the implication, of anyone else with Harry, holding his hand, cuddling in his bed, kissing him-  
  
Draco’s trail of thoughts disappeared as the laptop hit the bed, as Hermione closed the door behind her. He turned back to face Harry, who was rummaging through the basket and pulled out a container of sandwiches.  
  
“What’s the laptop for?” Draco asked.  
  
“Netflix. Obviously.”  
  
Draco laughed at his boyfriend’s faux mocking expression, snatching a sandwich before the starved athlete beside him ate them all. Draco opened the laptop and set it between them, the two quickly finding some mindless movie to watch. Draco snuggled in closer to Harry, laying his head on his shoulder and against his neck. He could already feel the contentment spreading in his chest, the warmth seeping through his skin, sleep pressing heavy on his eyelids. 

***

Everything felt so _right_. With Draco’s body pressed tightly against his own, Harry felt so _completely_ content. Draco’s grey eyes were struggling to stay open, Harry knew he was fighting to stay awake; Harry wouldn’t mind if he fell asleep.  
  
The door abruptly opened, causing Harry to jump slightly. Draco didn’t even seem to notice. Harry looked over his boyfriend’s slumbering body, only to see Ron walking into the dormitory. Sharing a room with him had been incredibly tense ever since he’d blown up at Harry. They hadn’t said a word to each other, going out of their way to stay out of each other’s way, avoiding the other at all costs. Harry knew it was hard on the other boys in their room, Dean and Seamus, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk to Ron. About anything. He could barely get words to form in his head when he looked at Ron, let alone get them out of his mouth.  
  
Ron’s gaze immediately went to Harry’s bed, his entire body seemed to freeze. Harry clutched Draco closer to himself as Ron’s blue gaze turned cold, hard, nearly disgusted. The laptop was digging into his legs, the noise from the movie was the only sound. It was almost too loud for how tense the silence was.  
  
An obnoxiously high-pitched giggle sounded from behind the door frame, announcing Lavender Brown’s arrival. “Ronnie, what’s taking so long?” she whined, “It doesn’t take much time to grab a jacket-” she stopped as soon as she stepped into the room, seeing Harry and Draco entangled on the bed. “Oh!” she squeaked, too loudly for Harry’s taste. Draco shifted, his nose scrunching and his brow furrowing like he detested the noise even as he slept.  
  
“You’re not supposed to have _him_ up here,” Ron sneered, throwing a hateful glance at Draco.  
  
Harry’s mind immediately went on offense, he wanted to open his mouth and spew the words that came to his defense. He wanted to take Ron off his holier than thou pedestal brick by brick, wanted to tear down the barrier that had come between them overnight. But words were out of his grasp. Thoughts rambled in his head, a stream of agonizing thoughts that reminded him of too many nights spent shut in the cupboard. _Just keep your mouth shut and you won’t make it any worse. Don’t say anything, don’t do it. You don’t want to see what he’ll do to you he’ll do terrible things youdon'tknowwhathe'lldohe'llhateyouforever-_  
  
The most Harry could manage was a pointed glare in Lavender’s direction. Ron saw this and huffed out an exasperated breath. He snagged a jacket from the floor beside his bed before grabbing Lavender’s hand and leading her out of the room, slamming the door behind him.  
  
Harry could feel his body trembling. His hands were fisted in Draco’s shirt, his breathing unsteady and stuttering.  
  
“Harry?” Draco’s voice was muggy, his words slurred with sleep, “You alright?”  
  
Releasing his hold on the smaller boy’s shirt, Harry kissed his forehead and whispered, “I’m fine. Go to sleep, baby, I’ll wake you up before curfew.” Seeing Draco’s soft, tired smile made Harry smile in return. With his eyes still closed, Draco leaned his face up to Harry’s, as if asking for a kiss. Harry gave a low chuckle before obliging his boyfriend with a delicate press of his lips on his, and another on his nose, and his forehead, drawing a hushed giggle from the blond boy’s mouth before he settled back into Harry’s body; he tightened his arms, settled one leg across Harry’s, wrapping his entire body around the other boy’s.  
  
It reminded Harry of how they met on the plane; Draco falling asleep on Harry and wrapping his arms tightly around the boy. (He couldn’t believe that they’d come this far, from strangers to curling up together in Harry’s bed. He felt balanced; he hadn’t realized it until Draco first wrapped his cold hands around his arm, but Harry felt too hot, uncomfortably warm without the other boy. It was like he evened Harry out—like he was the missing piece in his puzzle) Harry settled to finish the movie with Draco wrapped around him. 

The movie had been over for thirty minutes. Harry had been gazing-staring-at a sleeping Draco, for thirty minutes. He busied himself with tracing the contours of his face, sharp and elegant; he played with his hair, soft and blond and it smelled like lemons; he traced the outline of his lips, full and pink. He knew he should awaken his boyfriend so that he could make it to his common room before curfew, but Harry didn’t want this moment to end.  
  
In the end, logic won out and Harry softly shook Draco’s shoulder. When that didn’t work, he pried his arms from his chest. Draco’s eyes fluttered open, his jaw dropped in a wide yawn as he asked, “Where are you going?” His voice was rough and gravelly, his words slurring together. Harry smiled at the smaller boy as he stood up from the bed, stretching his muscles on the way up.  
  
“It’s almost curfew, Dray. We gotta get you to your dorm.” Harry wasn’t surprised to see Draco groan and fall back on the pillows.  
  
“Come on, am I going to have to carry you?” Harry asked sarcastically, poking his boyfriend in the ribs.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Harry did a double-take. “You’re kidding, right?”  
  
“Nope. You haven’t finished making your absence up to me.”  
  
“But-!”  
  
“Nope. You’re going to have to carry me.” Draco opened one of his eyes, only to see what Harry was sure was a mischievous grin on the bigger boy’s face, a glint in his eyes. Harry stooped down and scooped up his boyfriend.  
  
And then promptly threw him over his shoulder.  
  
“Harry! This is not the kind of carrying I had in mind!” Draco grumbled from behind Harry’s back.  
  
“You didn’t specify,” Harry countered.  
  
Harry carried him through the common room, receiving many glances, some calculating, some amused, others slightly concerned. Harry walked past them all, giving Hermione a nod as he passed. He could practically feel the smirk she tossed Draco behind him. Harry walked out the door.  
  
However, he felt a little bad about slinging his boyfriend over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes; there’s no way it was comfortable. So, Harry shifted him around, practically manhandled him, until he was carrying Draco bridal-style.  
  
“Much better,” Draco sighed, curling into Harry’s arms and wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck and shoulders. His eyes were heavy again, fluttering closed.  
  
When Harry arrived at the door to Draco’s common room, it was Pansy who answered, in her pajamas with her hair in pigtails. Harry nearly laughed at the image, but he knew that she would probably break his kneecaps. She simply pointed him to Draco’s dorm as if to say, _I’m too tired to even care, just put him in bed._  
  
Blaise was the one to open the door, in a similar state, minus the pigtails. He took one glance at Draco, and a nearly maniacal smile came across his face. He took out his phone and snapped a picture before Harry could even protest; he wasn’t even sure if he objected in the first place.  
  
Harry shook his head at the other boy before walking in and gently setting the blond boy in his bed, tucking in the blankets before kissing his forehead and whispering, “Goodnight, sweetheart.” Harry didn’t expect any reply, having assumed his boyfriend was too deep in sleep to even hear him.  
  
“Goodnight, Harry.”  
  
Harry softly caressed Draco’s cheek before turning and walking out the door. All the way to his dormitory, he had a small smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are amazing and super appreciated. I loooove comments. Like, I seriously get so excited whenever I get one.


	9. It's Not Your Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, as he fell asleep, Hermione took a moment to smile at how far he had come. She was glad that he was still able to let her in, to come to her. Harry’s breathing evened out, and Hermione settled down into the pillows to take a nap as well, her head on top of Harry’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is a little shorter than my previous ones, but there's a surprise POV, so I hope you guys enjoy it! Also, I upped the chapter count so there's that...

Harry had never been so wound up for a football game. Well, not one that he could remember at the moment. The last time Hogwarts’ football team had played against Beauxbatons Institute, Oliver Wood had been captain, and they’d lost. Drastically. The memories were still ingrained in Harry’s mind; how Oliver had stayed strong in the face of defeat, the manner in which he had managed to cheer up the team despite their bitter moods. Despite _Harry’s_ bitter mood.  
  
_If I’d just made those shots_, Harry thought, sitting on the bench in the locker rooms, minutes before the game was going to start, _then Oliver wouldn’t have had to cheer up the team._ He ran a hand down his face, looking down at his hands in his lap. _What am I thinking? If Oliver couldn’t lead us to victory, how am I supposed to? How am I supposed to be better than him when I’m just… me? What was I thinking? Accepting being captain was such a mistake, I can’t do this Ican’tdothisIcan’tdothiswhatwasIthinking-_  
  
“Harry?” The boy looked up at hearing his name, only to see Fred and George Weasley standing in the doorway. “Coach is looking for you. The game is supposed to start any minute now.”  
  
Despite the recent developments in Harry’s relationship with Ron, Fred and George seemed relatively as they were before. They didn’t appear to care what their brother thought of Harry; after all, he was still their captain.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Harry murmured, standing and walking behind the twins out to the field. When Coach Hooch saw him, she gave him a knowing smile and a pat on the back.  
  
“Potter, whatever happens out there, you’ll do me proud.” Harry heard the words, but they seemed to bounce off his heart, echoing around his chest until they were twisted, crooked, mangled, unrecognizable. Instead, he heard, _I already know you’re going to fail, I may as well try to make you feel better._ Harry’s heart faltered, his hands turned clammy as he walked to his position on the field. 

Every muscle in Harry’s body was aching, with exertion and with remorse. Everything went sour in the second half of the game. Harry had missed a pass to Angelina, Katie Bell had fouled on one of Beauxbatons’ center fielders, Alicia Spinnet had failed what should’ve been an easy goal. While it was a close game, they’d only lost by one goal, they had still _lost._  
  
The water was hot on Harry’s skin as he rushed through his shower, attempting to get out of the locker rooms and to his dorm as fast as possible. He didn’t think he could handle the disappointed looks of his teammates on top of the lost game. It wasn’t their first loss with him as captain, but this was the game they’d spent hours upon hours training for. This was the game everyone had been looking forward to _winning_. And yet they’d lost. _Harry_ had lost. _Again._  
  
Harry exited the shower, threw his clothes on as fast as humanly possible, and made his way to the door. But not before seeing all of his teammates, apparently waiting for him. Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat, shifting his face into what he hoped was a passable smile.  
  
“You all were great out there,” he started, his voice was steadier than he thought it would be, _for them_, “We may not have won, but you improved on the last time you played them. I know you all worked very hard to win this game, I know you’re all sad we didn’t win. But I am proud of you all. And I’m sure Coach is, too.”  
  
This seemed to brighten their moods the smallest bit. They all gave him the same somber smile, and nodded at him, giving him permission to leave. Harry turned to go through the door, but just as his fingers touched the doorknob, Angelina exclaimed, “Draco’s waiting for you outside.”  
  
Harry’s entire body froze, his fingers almost jerking off the knob. No, he couldn’t face his boyfriend. He wouldn’t be able to stand the disappointment that would no doubt be written on Draco’s face. He would crumble, collapse, fall apart. He.. he just couldn’t.  
  
The captain turned away from the door, opting for the back exit instead. He felt awful, of course, leaving his boyfriend out there waiting for him. He never wanted to make Draco feel unwanted, undesirable, rejected. But he couldn’t make himself go through that door.  
  
So, walking as quickly as possible, Harry rushed out of the locker rooms through the back exit, into the school, through the halls, and into his common room. 

***

Hermione had been waiting for Harry in the common room since the moment the game ended. So the moment the door opened, her head snapped up. With no one else in the room, Harry’s gaze immediately went to her. His hand dropped from the door once he closed it, and his entire body seemed to slouch. Immediately, she rushed to him and enveloped him in her arms, her head perfectly under his chin.  
  
Harry slowly wrapped his arms around her in return. She knew he was taking the loss hard; she knew a lot more than that, actually. After slowly extracting herself from his embrace, Hermione took his hands and led him up to his dorm room. His every step was sluggish and heavy. When they reached his room, Harry tumbled onto his bed, curling into himself in what resembled fetal position, facing the wall.  
  
All Hermione could do was crawl in next to him, her chest to his back, her arm around his chest, hugging him from behind. Her other hand was combing through his damp hair.  
  
“Harry,” she whispered softly, “honey, it’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault, I promise you.” Hermione’s heart fractured when she saw a tear trickle from Harry’s closed eyes. His brow was furrowed, his lips were pressed together—like he was trying to keep the thoughts inside his head, attempting to control the screams begging to be released.  
  
“No one hates you, my love. It’s not your fault that you didn’t win, no one blames you. The team may have lost the game, but you all did _better_, you _improved_, Harry.” She tried to pull her body closer to his, but he simply rolled over so they were facing one another. She gently brushed his hair from his face, curling her arms around him again as he laid his head on her shoulder, his face in her neck, arms around her waist; she felt a bit like a human teddy bear, but she didn’t mind. Hermione was just contented with the fact that Harry had even found the strength to let her in.  
  
She kissed his hair as she whispered, “I’m so proud of you, Harry. And I’m absolutely, one hundred percent positive that your mum and dad would be just as proud of you, more proud of you than I ever could be, love.” She felt his shoulders shake with choked back tears, his arms tightening around her.  
  
Hermione knew full well how Harry had been raised. It wasn’t a pretty story, filled with baby pictures, pastel rainbows, birthday parties, and fond memories. She could still remember the day she’d met him, when they had both been eleven, on the first day of school. Harry had been small, concerningly skinny, and couldn’t make direct eye contact with anyone. He’d been so… reduced. Diminished.  
  
Now, as he fell asleep, Hermione took a moment to smile at how far he had come. She was glad that he was still able to let her in, to come to her. Harry’s breathing evened out, and Hermione settled down into the pillows to take a nap as well, her head on top of Harry’s.  
  
Unfortunately, the door opened a few minutes after she closed her eyes. 

***

Draco had looked everywhere for Harry: the showers, locker room, he had checked with Angelina, he’d even gone so far as to question the Weasley twins. The only places he hadn’t yet looked were in Harry’s common room, and his dorm room. He had tried waiting outside the locker room door for him, but Harry hadn’t shown. Draco was feeling slightly put out by this, but he tried to sympathize. He knew how hard Harry had worked to win this game, how important it was to him that he won.  
  
So, when Draco opened Harry’s dorm room door, he was expecting to find his boyfriend alone and in need of comfort; the same kind of comfort that Draco was more than happy to provide for him.  
  
He was not expecting to find his boyfriend curled in bed with Hermione Granger.  
  
He froze in the doorway, trying to reconcile his logic with what he was seeing in front of him. Harry was sleeping, his head on Hermione’s chest with his face in her neck and his arms around her small frame. But the part that bothered him the most was how Hermione’s hand was in his hair, her other arm wrapped around as much of his body as she could reach with her smaller arm span.  
  
Just as Draco was about to open his mouth and say something he was sure he would regret later, Hermione gave him a small, heavyhearted smile and reached her hand out to him, as if beckoning him closer, her other hand _still_ in his hair.  
  
Somehow he managed to ignore that fact, and took her hand, sitting on the bed next to her, his eyes fixed on Harry.  
  
“Is he alright?” Draco asked softly, not wanting to wake Harry, “I waited for him outside the locker rooms, but he never came out.” He took a moment to glance at Hermione before continuing, “I just… _I_ wanted to be there for him.”  
  
When he looked up again, Hermione was looking at him knowingly. She always seemed to know what was going through his head, it was like she read his mind. “Malfoy, I know you haven’t really… been in a relationship before,” she paused when Draco opened his mouth to protest, only to close it because he knew she was right, “and I know that you really like Harry, and want to be the one that he runs to, all the time, every time. And it’s okay to feel that way, really.  
  
“But Harry… he has a hard time letting people in. And it’s going to be hard for him, letting you in and telling you everything. Just be patient with him, please, he’s doing the best he can.” Draco was staring intently at his boyfriend’s face. Harry’s face was so peaceful, so at odds with Hermione’s words. “He didn't grow up the way that you and I were, with parents that loved and cared about us, Draco.”  
  
Draco knew that Harry’s parents had passed away when he was little, but looking back now… Harry always seemed to evade questions about his childhood, or who’d raised him. It was like he’d had practice doing it.  
  
“What do you mean, Hermione?” he asked. She made it sound like something was something inherently _wrong_ or… or _awful_ with the way Harry had been brought up. “How was… how was Harry raised?”  
  
She shook her head. Draco was about to say something, demand that she tell him what she meant when Harry stirred and pulled Hermione impossibly closer to himself. Both of them snapped their heads toward him, but he remained asleep.  
  
“I really shouldn’t have even told you anything, Draco,” she whispered, “It’s for him to tell you, it’s his business.”  
  
_What the hell kind of childhood did my boyfriend have? _

When Harry’s eyes fluttered open, all quiet conversation between Draco and Hermione ceased. They had been talking for the past hour while Harry slept, about classes, school, home life. Draco had managed to avoid trying to pry information about his boyfriend, knowing full well that Hermione was more stubborn than he was. She was like a mule.  
  
Draco immediately scooted closer to his boyfriend, and by consequence also almost squashed Hermione between them. Harry didn’t seem to register that Draco was there for a moment, and then his eyes went wide and his hands tightened on Hermione.  
  
“Harry, are you okay?” he asked, reaching to touch Harry’s hand.  
  
His boyfriend instantly relaxed, prompting a small smile on Draco’s face.  
  
“Just fine, Dray, just fine,” he mumbled, his voice deep and gravelly with sleep. Even if Draco could see right through his boyfriend’s lie, he figured calling him out on it wouldn’t help. Instead, he just rubbed soothing circles into his hand.  
  
“I was looking for you after the game, I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. You were amazing in that game today,” he tried for an assuring voice, hoping that he was getting through to him, “It doesn’t matter that the team didn’t win, you all did your best, and you did so much better than the last time you played against them.”  
  
Draco watched as Harry’s lips spread in a soft smile, “Thank you.”  
  
The other boy tilted his head in confusion, “For what? I only told you what’s true, sweetheart.”  
  
“For being here,” Harry closed his eyes and entwined his fingers with Draco’s, “even after I ran away from you.”  
  
Draco looked at Hermione for clarification, wondering what in the world his tired boyfriend was going on about. She mouthed, _I’ll tell you later._ So, rather than questioning Harry, he said, “Of course I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
And then Draco’s phone pinged. It was a message from Pansy.  
  
_Pansy: **I need your help**_  
  
_Pansy: **You have to come to the common room ASAP**_  
  
Looking at a drowsy Harry, suddenly regretting the words that had just come out of his mouth, he replied:  
  
_Draco: **I’m kinda busy, Pansy**_  
  
Her response was immediate, he hadn’t even put his cell down.  
  
_Pansy: **This is emergency level stuff Draco!!**_  
  
_Pansy: **I don’t care how good of a kisser Harry is, stop being a leech and get over here!**_  
  
Draco huffed a breath in exasperation. He knew that she wouldn’t stop texting him if he didn’t do as she wanted.  
  
It was one of the many perks about being friends with Pansy Parkinson.  
  
With a quick glance at Hermione, he leaned a little closer to Harry as he said, “I’m sorry, Pansy needs me. I have to go, sweetie, but I’ll be back as soon as I possibly can be, alright?” Harry opened his eyes, and Draco could almost see how hard Harry was working to believe that he would really be back. Draco squeezed his hand and kissed him lightly, before getting up and making his way to the door. Looking over his shoulder with his hand on the door handle, he saw Harry and Hermione settling back into sleep, and this time, Draco wasn’t nearly as bothered by Hermione’s hand in his soft hair.  
  
And then he walked out the door and got bothered all over again.  
  
Standing in front of him was Ronald Weasley, red hair and all. When Draco closed the door behind him, he noticed that the youngest Weasley boy was without a certain rotten girlfriend. He also noticed that Ron was making his way to enter the room he had just exited.  
  
The room _Harry_ was in.  
  
The room his _tired, hurting, vulnerable boyfriend_ was in.  
  
Draco’s hands curled into fists as he stepped into Ron’s way, effectively stopping the other boy. Ron opened his mouth, a malicious glint in his eyes; Draco lifted a hand to stop him again.  
  
“You’re not going in there,” Draco hissed, trying to keep his voice down for Harry’s sake. “I don’t care what you were going for, _you are not entering that room_. Harry’s already got enough going on, he doesn’t need you adding to the mix.”  
  
Ron’s eyes narrowed, Draco could see his body tense. “That’s my room too, and Harry needs me more than he’ll ever need you.”  
  
“Then explain to me how he’s been happier since he stopped talking to you. Explain how he didn’t go to you, he didn’t ask for you, he didn't even wonder where you were. If he needs you so badly, why haven’t you been there?”  
  
Draco had taken a step closer to Ron with every word, forcing the other boy to back away from the door, his resolve crumbling with Draco’s scathing tone and scorching words. He could feel his blood boiling with the need to get the Weasley boy away from Harry, his nails digging into the meat of his palm.  
  
Luckily for him, Ron closed his mouth before he could say something increasingly stupid, and walked away. Draco saw Lavender on the opposite side of the common room, where the red-headed boy was heading, and scoffed. He walked out the door, hoping he got his message clear enough that Ron would stay away even while he was gone.  
  
His thoughts drifted to Harry, and he walked faster in hopes of being able to return sooner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'd you guys think of Hermione's POV? I'm a little nervous that I didn't do her justice. I hope you guys liked this chapter! I love getting comments! I mean, kudos are great, but comments are like a jackpot! :)


	10. I Promised I Would

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco’s fingers were digging into Harry’s shoulders, like he was afraid he would float away if he didn’t hold on tight enough. Harry’s mouth traveled down to Draco’s neck, where he seemed to switch gears and started leaving butterfly kisses across his shoulders and collar bones. The blond boy could hear his own heavy breathing, only consoled by the fact that Harry’s was just as uneven and labored. He quivered when Harry kissed under his ear, his tongue then tracing the shell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... This chapter gets a little more physical (I'm not really sure if I wrote it well enough or if it's really cringy, but I guess we'll find out) so if you're uncomfortable with that just go ahead and skip to the first asterisk. This chapter is a little bit longer, so I hope you all like it!

Draco was upset with Pansy, to say the least. Her _“emergency”_ had been nothing more than the fact that Terry Boot asked her to lunch and she didn’t know what to wear. He’d been dragged away from Harry because Pansy hadn’t known what to _wear_ on a date. _Ron might’ve gone in there while I was gone. Dammit, Pansy, just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I know what the hell you should wear to a date,_ Draco cursed, once again opening the door to the northern common room. He hadn’t been gone very long, an hour at best, and yet Ronald Weasley was already making out with Lavender again.  
  
_Does he… Does he even have a_ single _brain cell functioning in that thick skull of his?_ Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, he walked through the doors to the boys’ dormitories and headed straight for Harry’s, familiar enough with the hallway that he was sure he could walk to Harry’s room in the dark, or with his eyes closed. He couldn’t believe the _nerve_ of that red-headed _git_.  
  
Walking into the room, he saw that Hermione had seemingly left; Harry was curled alone on the bed with his eyes closed, but somehow Draco knew that he wasn’t asleep. He closed the door behind him and toed off his shoes before sitting on the edge of the bed, next to his boyfriend.  
  
Harry’s eyes shot open as soon as Draco touched the mattress.  
  
“You came back,” he muttered. Laying down, facing his boyfriend, Draco kissed Harry’s forehead and snuggled into him.  
  
“I promised I would, sweetheart.” The smaller boy wound his arms around the other and placed another kiss on his nose. Those green eyes were gazing intently at him, a light in them that hadn’t been there when Draco had left. He lifted his hand and traced the contours of his face. “Where’d Hermione go?”  
  
Harry smiled and pressed his lips to Draco’s own. “She didn’t want to fall asleep here, she went back to her dorm.”  
  
The only response Draco could make was an acknowledging grunt in the back of his throat, Harry was kissing him again, and it was impossible to even _think_ in coherent words. Draco slid his hands up the bigger boy’s well-muscled arms, all the way up to his broad shoulders, into his soft black hair, all the while savoring the glide of his mouth against Harry’s.  
  
He felt warm hands around his waist, one slipping down to grasp his hip and bring him closer to Harry’s body. Draco’s shirt rucked up a few inches; the warm sensation of Harry’s hand on his bare skin made him shiver in pleasure, eliciting an appreciative noise from Harry, deep and rumbling.  
  
And then Draco felt Harry’s tongue caress his bottom lip and he gasped in surprise. Harry seemed to take full advantage and swept his tongue against Draco’s own, evoking a keening noise from the back of Draco’s throat. An entirely new array of sensations tore through his body, he was tugging at Harry’s hair, trying to pull himself closer to him, trying to get more, feel more, he _needed more._ His other hand dove under his boyfriend’s shirt, tracing the lines of his stomach and his chest. His skin was smooth and soft but his body was hard and muscled; he felt Harry shiver at his touch.  
  
Almost as if in response, Harry’s hand plunged into his own shirt, the feel of his fingers on his chest, his stomach, his waist, was intoxicating. Draco’s mind was swirling with the smell of Harry, with the taste of him. His boyfriend ran his hand up the curve of his spine, dragging his shirt with him and making him shudder.  
  
Harry got up on the bed, sitting on his heels, never taking his mouth off of Draco’s as he followed him. He could feel the bigger boy’s chest heaving with uneven breaths.  
  
He didn’t exactly recall what happened next, but the next thing Draco knew his shirt was gone, tossed somewhere off the bed, he was straddling Harry’s legs, and his mouth was pressed so tightly to Harry’s own that he could feel his teeth through their mashed lips and clashing tongues. The kiss was messy, messier than any kiss they’d shared. Harry’s hands felt like they were everywhere at once, Draco’s head was whirling with every heady sensation.  
  
When Harry’s fingers dipped beneath the waistband of Draco’s jeans, he let out an embarrassingly loud moan, prompting Harry to kiss him harder, like he was trying to swallow the sounds and memorize every millimeter of his mouth, inside and out. He nipped Draco’s bottom lip with his teeth, then licked over the bite like he was soothing an imaginary pain. Draco could feel pleasure dripping down every nerve in his body, he was drowning in sensation, he was on fire, a fire that Harry had breathed to life. _Harry…_  
  
Draco’s fingers were digging into Harry’s shoulders like he was afraid he would float away if he didn’t hold on tight enough. Harry’s mouth traveled down to Draco’s neck, where he seemed to switch gears and started leaving butterfly kisses across his shoulders and collar bones. The blond boy could hear his own heavy breathing, only consoled by the fact that Harry’s was just as uneven and labored. He quivered when Harry kissed under his ear, his tongue then tracing the shell.  
  
Draco groaned when he felt Harry sucking and biting at the sensitive skin at the junction of his shoulder and neck. He raked his hand through his dark hair, tugging and fisting the now-damp strands. Draco’s mind was on autopilot, letting his body take over for him; he moved against Harry, grinding into him and thoroughly enjoying the way Harry _moaned_ and tightened his fingers on his waist, tight enough to leave bruises, a new vigor in the way he was sucking on Draco’s skin. His tongue smoothed over every bite, his mouth was soft and hot.  
  
Draco was about to do it again when the door opened and the hallway light flooded in.  
  
And immediately shut again with a scream.  
  
Both boys froze in place, slowly lifting their heads to look at the door. Draco could feel his already scarlet face flush with embarrassment when there was a shout from the other side of the door.  
  
“Harry Potter! You and your boyfriend had better be decent within two minutes or so help me I will send someone to go fetch Professor McGonagall! I’m too tired to deal with whatever it is going on in there.”  
  
Draco closed his eyes, pressing his lips together. Harry laid his forehead against his, whispering, “That’ll be Seamus.” He sounded almost _amused._  
  
He couldn’t help it. He really tried to keep it inside.  
  
Draco burst out laughing. Here he was, in his boyfriend’s bed, in his boyfriend’s dormitory, with no idea where his shirt was, and what he was sure was a hickey on his neck. He could only imagine the look on his mother’s face if she could see him now, let alone his father.  
  
Harry seemed to hesitate a moment before chuckles poured out of his own mouth, though Draco was positive it wasn’t for the same reason. Whatever the case, it didn’t seem to make Seamus any happier.  
  
“I’m serious Harry!” he yelled from the hallway, “I wanna get to bed, and I am not afraid to be a snitch to get there!”  
  
The laughter died down. Draco didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want Harry to stop touching him. He _needed_ Harry to keep touching him, kissing him, _tasting_ him. His breathing was still heavy and uneven, his one hand was still knotted in Harry’s hair, the other fixed on his shoulder. The taste of him was still on Draco’s tongue, peppermint and something citrusy- like grapefruit. When he looked back at Harry, his green eyes were dark with desire. His hands continued caressing the pale skin on his torso, the scrape of his rough calluses against his skin made the blond boy tremble. He bent his head down to proceed kissing up the column of Draco’s neck, up to his jaw.  
  
“Harry, as much as I love this,” Draco said, his voice incredibly breathy even to his own ears, “I have a feeling that Seamus isn’t kidding.” It took every ounce of his strength to untangle his fingers from Harry’s hair and pry them from the muscle at his shoulder. The other boy snickered into his neck as he gently pulled his hands away, running his palms over every inch of skin he could reach in the process.  
  
“Draco Malfoy, are you actually scared of a little threat from Seamus?”  
  
“Oh, shut up and walk me back to my common room, you ass.” Draco chose to ignore the boisterous laughter that burst from Harry’s mouth, (the same mouth that had kissed him, the same mouth that had been on his, on his skin, his neck) and instead got off the bed and turned his back to Harry, searching for his shirt.  
  
It was at this moment that Draco truly realized something. He was shirtless. In front of Harry. He was _shirtless_ in front of his boyfriend for the first time. His face was swept with a new wave of scarlet. He felt his fingers twitch. He knew for certain that he wasn’t bad-looking. But he wasn’t… Harry’s level of good-looking. (Harry was the type of handsome that was obvious. He was the kind of handsome that had you looking twice and then staring for as long as possible until he looked in your direction. Draco was sharper in his beauty, he was more fine-boned, thin and lean. He was the type of handsome that wasn’t obvious at first glance. He was the sort of handsome that had you analyzing his features, trying to figure out what it was about him that was appealing.)  
  
Draco heard a rustling from behind him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he suddenly felt Harry’s fingers running down his spine.  
  
“You,” he said, moving his fingers to trace the lines of his shoulders, “are absolutely the most amazing sight to behold.”  
  
Draco smirked, recovering from his moment of self-doubt. “What a fancy way to tell me you think I’m pretty.”  
  
And there was the laugh again, the one that always made Draco want to laugh with him, to be let in on the joke. Turning around his eyes met Harry’s with nothing but affection in his gaze.  
  
“C’mon guys, I just wanna get some sleep. Is that too much to ask?” came Seamus’ voice.  
  
“You’re shirt’s right there,” Harry laughed.  
  
Shaking his head, Draco pulled his shirt over his head and tugged on his shoes. Harry opened the door to reveal a very tired and slightly ticked off Seamus Finnigan.  
  
“Finally,” he grunted, pushing past Harry and flopping onto one of the other three beds.  
  
Harry kissed Draco goodnight when they reached the southern common room. The smaller boy was instantly pulled back into the haven that Harry’s arms always created. He felt Harry’s hands gently cupping his face as he kissed him.  
  
When Harry pulled away, Draco reached up and kissed the corner of his mouth.  
  
“I’ll see you tomorrow, baby, alright?”  
  
Draco smiled and replied, “Yeah, of course.” He unraveled his arms from around the other boy and walked through the door with a last look over his shoulder at his boyfriend. 

***

Wednesday, Thursday, and the first half of Friday passed without incident. Harry had spent them primarily with Draco, Hermione, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo, whether it was eating lunch together or studying in the library, whatever time he had away from football practice, classes, and before curfew was spent with them. He taught Pansy how to braid Hermione’s hair—which in turn helped her braid Blaise’s, who was secretly pleased with this new development—he talked with Theo about football, it turned out that he’d always wanted to try out for the school’s team, but hadn’t thought he was good enough. Harry informed him of an opening spot,—Angelina was graduating early—and tried his best to encourage him to try out. The best he got out of Theo was a strong “maybe”.  
  
Those days had also been full of Draco; dragging him into abandoned classrooms for heated kisses, raking his hands through his blond hair and trying to draw out those noises he _loved_. He discovered that Draco’s neck and ears were particularly sensitive, and couldn’t resist kissing him there, biting and licking him, if only for the sake of extracting the whines and moans from his reluctant mouth.  
  
Harry was in the middle of chemistry class when said boyfriend texted him.  
  
_Draco: **You don’t have plans for tonight, do you?**_  
  
He carefully hid his cell out of sight from Professor Snape’s pointed gaze.  
  
_Harry: **No**_  
  
_Harry: **Wait why?**_  
  
_Draco: **Because now you do**_  
  
_Draco: **I’ll tell you more at dinner, just wanted to make sure before I mentioned anything**_  
  
A throat being cleared in front of Harry made him snap his head up, only to see an annoyed Snape standing in front of his desk. He was looking down his hooked nose at the boy, a venomous glint in his black eyes.  
  
“Mr. Potter, it is no wonder that you have so few brain cells. If you cannot refrain from using your cell phone in class, I will take great pleasure in taking it and giving you detention.”  
  
Harry cocked his head to the side and pasted the smirk he knew Snape hated on his face. “Actually, Professor, the maximum punishment students are given for cell phone use is having the device taken away for the remainder of the period. So sorry to burst your bubble.” He paused and grinned wider at the disbelieving expression on Snape’s face. “Sir.”  
  
The disbelief turned to hatred in an instant. “Watch your tone, Potter,” Snape growled, then turned with a dramatic flair and stalked to his desk on the other side of the room. Harry knew full well that Snape would find some way to get back at him for his words, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care very much.  
  
“Harry,” Neville said from behind him, “are you completely insane?”  
  
Harry turned and grinned, “Probably.” 

Harry plopped down at the dinner table next to his boyfriend. When Draco turned to look at him, he kissed the smaller boy and wrapped his right arm around his waist, sliding him closer so their thighs were touching. Draco did the same, his arm around Harry’s waist.  
  
“Care to elaborate on these mystery plans of ours?” Harry purred into the blond’s ear. He could feel the shiver that ran down his spine. He couldn’t deny that he loved the reactions Draco always seemed to have around him.  
  
“Ew, you guys, I’m trying to eat here,” Pansy complained.  
  
“Oh please, you’ve hardly even touched your plate. You’ve been too busy texting Terry,” Draco quipped. Pansy’s mouth dropped open in protest, but her phone pinged. Her attention immediately shifted to her cell as she typed away. Theo laughed from Draco’s other side, Blaise sniggering from beside her.  
  
“My point exactly.”  
  
Harry snickered into his boyfriend’s hair, “Well?”  
  
“You don’t have a big problem with sneaking out after curfew, do you?” he whispered.  
  
Draco’s other hand settled on his knee, but it didn’t stay there long; he slid his hand up Harry’s thigh, all while looking him straight in the eyes with a sly smirk on his pink lips.  
  
The breath rushed out of Harry’s lungs, he could feel his eyes darken, his hand tightened on Draco’s side, fingers dipping under his shirt, tracing the lines of his hip bone.  
  
And yet, there was a part of Harry’s mind that retained the fact that he could get caught if he snuck out, he could get detention—or possibly suspended—if he was caught by the wrong professor. However, he knew the school like the back of his hand, had a schedule of the teachers’ night patrols and a map of the school from the Weasley twins, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d snuck out of bed after curfew. He hadn’t been caught then, it wasn’t likely he’d be caught this time.  
  
“And what might I be sneaking out for?” Harry said in a low, almost-raspy voice, his lips grazing against Draco’s ear.  
  
“Okay, really, people are trying to eat here, you two.” Pansy mocked gagging. “Stop being so… touchy-feely and nasty.”  
  
Harry leveled a good-natured scowl in her direction. “Oh, go back to texting your boyfriend.”  
  
“He is not my boyfriend!”  
  
With a pointed look at her once again pinging phone, Harry quipped, “Your phone begs to differ, Pansy dearest.”  
  
Rolling her eyes and spreading a small smile on her face she scoffed, “Shut up, Potter.”  
  
Laughing, he turned back to his boyfriend with a similar look. “I’m still waiting on an answer, baby,” he muttered.  
  
Harry watched intently as Draco wet his lips before he whispered back, “You know the empty classroom on the third floor?” He paused when Harry nodded. “Meet me there at midnight tonight.”  
  
The hand on his thigh moved again, sliding down to his knee and back up. Harry growled in the back of his throat, a deep rumbling noise that he could feel resonating in his chest. He stared into Draco’s eyes, noticing a predatory sort of glimmer in his eyes. He hadn’t seen this side of his boyfriend before, but he _loved_ it. He loved that there was still more for him to learn about the other boy.  
  
He swallowed thickly before answering lowly, “Got it.”  
  
The smile on Draco’s face was worth any risk of getting caught. Harry pecked his lips before turning to Blaise, who was looking at him with a knowing smirk and raised eyebrows.  
  
He could still see the blush on Draco’s face in his peripheral vision. 

It was nearing midnight when Harry finally left his dorm room that night; he’d told Dean that he would be leaving, just in case. The easiest part was getting through the common room. The prefect on duty was always asleep by this time in his shift. So, Harry just walked past him.  
  
The hallway was where he got nervous. Harry had a pretty good idea of the teachers’ rounds schedule, but he also knew that they tended to switch it up once in a while. He prayed that tonight was not one of those times.  
  
The academy at night was always an eerie experience for Harry. He was so used to being surrounded by people in these hallways, with sunshine filtering through the windows and students talking about everything and nothing. It was odd to see the same hallways lit only by the moon and stars, strange to hear the silence broken only by the echo of his footsteps. _I think I like it better this way_, he thought, opening a panel in one of the walls and slipping through.  
  
Fred and George had been the one to tell him about the secret passages in the school. Harry had been thirteen at the time. This particular one was shorter than most of the others, just a tunnel staircase that led from the seventh floor to the third, oddly convenient in this case.  
  
After finishing the descent, he opened the exiting door- a large rectangular painting- and scanned the area before departing and closing it behind him. The abandoned classroom that Draco had referred to wasn’t exactly close to his current position. So, with careful and quiet steps, he set off down this hallway, keeping his ears open for any footsteps, his eyes peeled for any telltale signs of a professor coming his way.  
  
His mind eventually started drifting to what was waiting for him in that abandoned classroom. Draco hadn’t actually said what they were doing, but with the way he’d asked, Harry was sure he had an accurate idea. He just wasn’t sure he was exactly on board. Of course, he thought Draco was attractive, he was absolutely _gorgeous_, and Harry knew that his feelings for the other boy were strong, stronger than they’d been for anyone else in a long time. He trusted Draco, he wanted to tell him things he hadn’t told anyone. There were times when they were cuddling that Harry wished they could just be zipped up in the same skin if only to be closer to him.  
  
But Harry wasn’t sure if having sex with Draco would ruin everything. The same way it had with Ginny. Obviously, he wanted to, he wanted to take that step with his boyfriend; but wanting something and being ready for something were two very, very different things. He just hoped that he could explain his thoughts with the right words if tonight came to that.  
  
“Mr. Potter, care to explain what you’re doing out and about at this time of night?”  
  
_**Shit.**_

***

Draco was filled to the brim with anticipation. This would be the first date that _he_ had planned for Harry, and he was positive that everything would go off without a hitch. He’d managed to slip blankets and pillows into this room over the last two days, accumulating enough for an almost nest-like mattress, and he’d snuck the food in earlier today; nothing that would spoil or go stale over a few hours.  
  
The watch on his wrist had just ticked midnight when he heard footsteps through the door. Draco had left it open the smallest bit in order to hear anyone approaching. He was practically vibrating with apprehension and the hope that Harry would think sneaking out was worth all this.  
  
“Mr. Potter, care to explain what you’re doing out and about at this time of night?” came the telltale voice of someone who was most _definitely_ not Harry. It was too old, too nasally, too menacing, to be that of his boyfriend.  
  
No, the voice was one Draco knew all too well. Professor Snape.  
  
_Well, shit,_ Draco cursed under his breath. His entire body froze, just behind the door. He’d known there was a chance of them getting caught, but he’d been so positive that nothing would go wrong.  
  
“Professor,” came Harry’s voice, it sounded as if it were just a few feet from the door, “I was just out for a walk. I couldn’t sleep.” His voice seemed too calm for the situation.  
  
Draco could tell from Snape’s tone that he wasn’t the least bit convinced. “Is that so, Potter? No, I don’t think so.”  
  
“How unfortunate, Professor. But whether or not you believe me, that is the explanation I’m giving.”  
  
Draco shifted closer to the door, which creaked when he accidentally touched it. He didn’t dare to breathe, the silence that fell over the two in the hall was deafening in its intensity. _Damn it._  
  
“You wouldn’t happen to be hiding someone in that room, would you, Potter?”  
  
“Of course not, sir.”  
  
“Then what, pray-tell, moved that door just behind you?” Snape had a  
  
victorious air to his voice. Draco knew he was done for. He clapped a hand over his own mouth to try and keep the noise of his heavy breathing low.  
  
“I would venture to believe it was a draft of wind from an open window.”  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
“I just said it, so yes. Honestly, Professor, if I were you I would make an appointment to get my brain capacity checked by a doctor.” Draco could hear the smirk in Harry’s voice and immediately wanted to smack it right off his face. _Is he trying to get himself in even more trouble?_  
  
He could see with perfect clarity the snarl that must have been on Snape’s face as he commanded, “Detention every night this next week, Potter. Starting Monday, six o’clock, in my classroom. Now get back to your common room, immediately.”  
  
Draco was anticipating to hear a protest from Harry, an exclamation of how unfair this was- Draco knew that it was taking every ounce of his self-control to not do it himself- but instead all he heard was a “Yes, sir” and footsteps walking down the hall.  
  
He waited in that room for almost half an hour after Snape left to venture outside and return to his common room. He left everything behind, deciding to come back for it the next day. Draco didn’t see anyone on the way and got to his dorm without any trouble.  
  
Sitting on his bed, he pulled out his phone and called Harry. He answered on the second ring.  
  
“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Draco whispered before his boyfriend could say a word. He laid down and stared at the ceiling.  
  
“For what? Dray, everything’s fine,” Harry answered, equally quiet.  
  
“Everything is _not_ fine! I heard everything. Harry, you got detention because of me!”  
  
Harry sighed into the phone. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart.”  
  
“How is it not my fault? _I_ planned this stupid date, _I’m_ the one that told you to sneak out after curfew, it’s my fault you got caught.” Draco felt his eyes watering.  
  
“Draco, baby, listen to me, okay?” Harry paused and waited until Draco gave a weak “okay” as affirmation. “It’s not your fault. I wasn’t paying enough attention. It’s my fault, _not_ yours.”  
  
He didn’t exactly believe his boyfriend, but the guilty weight on his chest lifted, if only a little bit. Then he remembered the other thing he called to say.  
  
"Why the _hell_ did you start sassing Snape?”  
  
Harry laughed quietly on the other end of the phone. Draco furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.  
  
“Sorry, sorry, the alliteration was kind of funny,” Harry laughed. “I just needed to distract him so he wouldn’t go snooping and find you, too,” he paused as if realizing something, “he didn’t find you, did he?”  
  
Shaking his head the other boy answered, “No. But- But I’m going to go and talk to him tomorrow. I’m going to tell him it was my fault and-”  
  
Harry didn’t let him finish. _“Absolutely not,”_ his voice was forceful even though he spoke softly, “You’ll just get in trouble, Dray. That doesn’t benefit anyone. He’s not going to let me off the hook just because you were involved, sweetheart. Promise me you won’t talk to him tomorrow.”  
  
“But-”  
  
“Please, Draco. Just promise me you won’t.”  
  
Draco dragged a hand down his face. He hated the pleading tone in his boyfriend’s voice, hated that he was right. He just wanted to help. He just wanted to make things better and make it up to Harry somehow.  
  
“Okay. Okay, I promise.”  
  
“Thank you,” he replied, the relief audible even to Draco’s ears. “I’ll see you tomorrow, baby, alright?”  
  
The smallest of smiles appeared on Draco’s face. _How on earth is he even real?_ He thought, getting back out of bed.  
  
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he responded. He hung up first. But instead of going to sleep, he sat down at his desk and turned on his lamp. He took out his sketchbook and started to draw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it until next week! I would love getting some feedback for this chapter, I'm a little on the fence about how I wrote it. Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


	11. A Dance In The Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It felt like a moment in a cheesy chick-flick, dancing in the rain with Harry. Neither of them were very good, but that didn’t matter to Draco. They swayed in time to the sound of raindrops, the thunder a distant drumbeat. Their feet shuffled and there were a few times Draco almost slipped on the slick cobblestones, but he wouldn’t have rather been anywhere else. When Harry spun him, Draco laughed, and he felt freer than he had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late on the update, guys. With Christmas and all my drama going on, it's been hard to find time to write. But, I did it, and better late than never. So, I hope this isn't complete trash, and that you guys enjoy it.

Detention was, to say the least, getting on Harry’s nerves. Snape had him doing the most menial tasks for hours on end: cleaning every nook and cranny of his classroom, sanitizing beakers, organizing the materials closets. That was only Monday. Tuesday had Harry scanning every classroom textbook and erasing any pencil marks students had left behind. Wednesday didn’t bother him as much, Snape had told him to assist Professor Sprout—the botany professor—with repotting the plants that had outgrown their pots. If it weren’t for the slightly irritating opera music Sprout insisted on listening to, he might’ve almost enjoyed himself.  
  
Thursday and Friday afternoon had been washing the chalkboards in every classroom throughout the school. Every. Single. Classroom. Luckily for Harry, he’d worked quickly and Snape had let him go earlier than he’d previously said. However, Snape hadn’t let him leave without spouting a few choice comments about Harry’s father, the same as he had done every detention this week.  
  
This had been a recurring thing throughout his entire life. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon—Harry’s relatives that had raised him, with his cousin Dudley, for the first thirteen years of his life—had drilled into him how horrible James and Lily had been, how they were good-for-nothing wastes of space. Harry had always had to keep his doubts about this to himself. Any outward rebuttal of their judgments was not met kindly. His disbelief had been held in for so many years, it had become twisted and ferocious, a new concoction of rage and grief that drove him to tears at the thought of what his life might have been like if they’d lived to raise him themselves.  
  
But then he’d come to Hogwarts, and everything was so much different. Everyone told Harry how amazing his parents had been; his father was a bit of a rebel, always living in the grey area and causing mischief in his wake. And then James had fallen for Lily, the straight-A student who was kind to everyone. He was told of how in love they were, how they were perfect for each other in every way. Professor McGonagall had told him that after they graduated, his father worked with the government, and his mother had been attending medical school to become a nurse—until they’d had Harry and she’d had to put her studies on hold to take care of him.  
  
Only Professor Snape had ruined his sanctuary for learning about his parents. The first time Harry had entered his classroom, he’d been eleven and had left red-faced and thoroughly humiliated. Snape had practically drug James Potter’s name through the mud, trashing whatever image of his father Harry had managed to create on such little information. He’d felt surer than ever that his aunt and uncle were right about his parents.  
  
But that had been before Harry met his godfather, Sirius. The man had been falsely accused and convicted of Peter Pettigrew’s murder and imprisoned for twelve years, depriving him of the chance to raise Harry as James and Lily had wanted. Pettigrew was found when Harry was thirteen, and his godfather had been released. Their first meeting had been full of tears and slightly awkward hugs and promises that Sirius would find a way to get Harry away from his aunt and uncle and into his custody—if that was what Harry wanted. Six months later, Harry had moved into Number 12 Grimmauld Place with Sirius. Almost immediately he’d started asking for stories about his parents, and he knew for certain that the horrible things Snape and his relatives said about his father weren’t true.  
  
But that didn’t mean the words didn’t make his blood boil. He hated them with everything he was worth. He hated that he couldn’t know for sure what his parents were like, hated that he didn’t have a single memory of them.  
  
Now, Friday evening, Harry was finishing wrapping his hands in the weight room. The punching bag in the corner was looking particularly punchable. His vision was tinged red, his jaw clenched so tightly he was sure his teeth would crumble with the pressure. With every swing at the bag he let out a sharp breath, Snape’s words repeated in his head, screaming and tearing at his insides.  
  
_Lazy_  
  
Punch  
  
_Arrogant_  
  
Punch  
  
_Egotistical_  
  
Knee, punch, kick  
  
_Pompous, selfish bastard_  
  
Sweat dripped down Harry’s body, soaking his t-shirt. His heartbeat was almost loud enough to his own ears to drown out Snape’s voice. The muscles in his arms, back, and abdomen were burning; not enough to be painful, it was more of a pleasant distraction from his thoughts. He loved the rush that exercise always provided him, loved how he almost always got a restful night afterward, loved knowing that he was making himself stronger.  
  
Harry gave one more blow, harder than the rest, before stopping for a water break. He ran his hands through his hair and down his face as he turned.  
  
And froze when he saw Draco leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Harry’s shoulders tensed slightly.  
  
“I thought I might find you here,” Draco said. His face was pink, he wasn’t looking Harry in the eye.  
  
Walking towards his boyfriend, his brow furrowed, Harry asked, “Is everything alright?”  
  
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Draco pushed off the wall and met him in the middle. “I just… I know that Snape’s been driving you crazy, and I wanted to see if you were up for anything tonight.”  
  
Despite the wave of affection Harry felt for his boyfriend, his fists were aching to get back to beating something, the agitation was still settled in his bones, his skin was itching with aggression, and he knew that if he didn’t work it off now it would just grow into something uglier and heavier.  
  
“I would love to, Dray,” Harry started, “but I just—I need to hit something. I’ll be done in about an hour if you want to wait for me in your common room?”  
  
“Actually,” Draco declared as Harry began to turn, “could you teach me?”  
  
Surprise made Harry stop turning around.  
  
“You want me to teach you to box?”  
  
The blond boy’s pale skin flushed pink as he replied, “Yeah. I mean, if you want to.”  
  
A crooked grin spread on Harry’s face. He knew what Draco was trying to say. _I’ll stay with you if that’s okay._ He nodded and gently grabbed the other boy’s hands.  
  
“We’ll have to wrap these first.” 

After carefully wrapping Draco’s dainty hands (Harry knew that if he ever said his boyfriend’s hands were dainty out loud, Draco would not be happy. He would probably try and break some of Harry’s fingers) and wrists, Harry positioned him in front of the punching bag next to his.  
  
“Right, show me what you know.” Harry stepped back and gestured with his hand for Draco to hit the bag.  
  
He looked hesitant. “Just… hit it?”  
  
When Harry nodded at him, he punched the bag. And pouted when it didn’t move. Harry struggled to keep his laughter inside when Draco turned to him with his frown. It was kind of adorable, honestly. He set his hands on the smaller boy’s waist, shifting his posture until he was satisfied with how his body was set.  
  
“The bag isn’t supposed to move.” Harry took Draco’s thumb out of his fist. “And you’ll break your thumb that way. Make sure to keep tension here,” he patted Draco’s abdomen, “and make sure you aren’t leaning forward too much. Balance is key, keep your weight evenly distributed. Try and imagine that you’re hitting the center of the bag, or that your fist is going through it.”  
  
When Harry stepped back again, he was slightly shocked to see how quick of a learner his boyfriend was. He only had to correct the thumb situation before he was content with how well Draco was doing. And so he returned to his own bag, working up to where he was before he stopped. Soon the sound of Harry’s fists hitting the bag drowned out even Draco’s harsh breaths.  
  
Snape’s words had gone, but Harry could still feel a lingering stain. With every strike against the bag, every drop of sweat, he felt that stain lift. His entire focus was on the strain in his muscles, on keeping his breath even. His punches got faster and harder, his kicks became more vigorous the longer he went on.  
  
His mind went blank. Harry wasn’t even thinking about the punching bag in front of him anymore. He’d reached that mind-place where he was moving purely on muscle memory. He was barely even comprehending what he was seeing in front of him, Harry was so zoned out. Someone could have screamed and he probably wouldn’t have heard it. (This was the best part for him. This was the place where nothing and no one bothered him, not even himself. This was the place where he got to forget who he was, where he got to forget everything and just _move_)  
  
When his shoulders began to ache, Harry knew he was finished. Swiping a hand over his sweat-ridden face, he turned to look at Draco; he was still hitting the bag, though with less enthusiasm than before. _How long have we been here?_ Harry asked himself.  
  
Draco seemed to notice that Harry had stopped, and dropped his arms to his sides. His shoulders were sagging with exhaustion.  
  
“Finished?”  
  
“Yeah, I just need a shower, and then we can go do whatever you want,” Harry replied with a creeping smile. He leaned forward and unwrapped Draco’s hands, making sure there was no bruising on his pale knuckles. (Harry loved the color of Draco’s skin, white as porcelain and smooth like glass) After unwrapping his own hands, he intertwined his fingers with his boyfriend’s and started walking for the showers.  
  
Draco swung their hands between them. “Do you want to talk about why you’re needing to hit things?” His voice was casual but Harry could hear the concern behind them. He supposed now was as good a time as any to start telling Draco about where he came from. And—for better or worse—Harry trusted Draco. And he wanted to trust him with the things he kept closest to his heart.  
  
So, with a long-suffering sigh, Harry began, “I guess Snape has this whole… grudge thing, against my father. I guess they went to school together or something when they were our age, I don’t know. But Snape never misses an opportunity to say something insulting about him.” Harry paused when he saw Draco looking up at him. The next words were harder to get out, it was a fight to get them past his lips. But he knew that if he didn’t say them now, it would be harder later. “It just sucks, because I didn’t get to know my father enough to prove him wrong.” He felt his boyfriend lay his head against his shoulder, the shorter boy wrapping his hand that wasn’t in Harry’s around his arm.  
  
“Harry, that’s awful, I’m so-”  
  
“Don’t say it, please.” Harry stopped at the doorway to the locker room, gazing down into his boyfriend’s saddened grey eyes. “‘Sorry’ doesn’t change anything, baby. I appreciate the sentiment, though. Really.”  
  
Draco looked like he was searching for the right words but couldn’t find them. His lips were pursed, his eyes narrowed and seeking. He looked conflicted with himself. “I just… I want to ask questions, but I don’t want to make you sad.”  
  
Harry felt his lips quirk up, almost a smile. “You can ask me whatever you want.” He walked through the door, taking the other boy with him. “After I take a shower.”

***

Draco waited for Harry on a bench against the lockers. Steam from his shower had started to fill the locker room. Draco couldn’t even think about how his boyfriend was showering literally _right in that shower stall;_ his thoughts were too occupied with questions he wanted to ask Harry. He was just now realizing how little he knew about Harry’s life. Sure, he knew _about_ Harry; knew that he absolutely loved football, his favorite color was green, knew that he considered Hermione his sister, and positively adored her. He knew that deep down, Harry missed Ron, and it was driving him crazy not talking to him. He knew that there was some deep pain inside of Harry that he had yet to share. And Draco was okay with waiting until he was ready.  
  
But he didn’t know all that much about Harry’s past. It was like one big blank. There were a few little things he’d pieced together himself, but it wasn’t the same as being shown the whole picture.  
  
Harry came out of the shower stall, ruffling his hair with a towel, a fresh pair of sweatpants riding low on his hips; Draco’s eyes widened at the sight of his Adonis belt. His deliciously brown skin was still damp from the steam. Draco was fighting for concentration while staring at him, wondering how it was possible that _this_ was his boyfriend, _this_ was the guy who had said _Draco_ was gorgeous. He knew his jaw had dropped. He also didn’t care.  
  
When he finally managed to look up at Harry’s face, Draco saw his boyfriend smirking at him with an amused glint in his eyes. His face turned crimson as he realized, _I was staring at Harry’s abs. Is it okay for me to stare at his abs? Because—I mean, they’re right there, and he’s my boyfriend, so it’s not a huge deal, right?_ He could feel the blush spreading to his neck as he remembered the night that his hands had dived under Harry’s shirt to touch him, to try and get closer to him and feel more of him.  
  
He’d had to use so much of Pansy’s makeup to cover up the mark on his neck Harry had left. But Draco didn’t mind, he kind of liked the reminder that Harry had been there, that Harry had kissed him and _wanted_ him.  
  
“Dray, I think you’re drooling a little bit,” Harry teased with laughter in his voice, pulling an old t-shirt over his head.  
  
“I am not!” he sputtered indignantly. He stood up and strode to Harry, who was standing at his open locker, that smug smile turning soft and adoring. Without really thinking about it, Draco twined his long, pale fingers with Harry’s, relishing the warmth that spread through his body from even the smallest bit of contact. He closed his eyes as Harry laid his forehead against his own.  
  
_How is he always so warm?_  
  
Draco’s mind slowly calmed down. He stood there for a minute, trying to find the right words to say, to ask what he wanted to know. He wanted to know everything there was to be found, he wanted to know the very essence of Harry’s soul, wanted to be the one who knew him better than anyone else. Luckily for him, Harry seemed to sense this shift in his mood.  
  
“Alright, go for it.” He lifted his head and shut his locker before taking Draco’s hand again, gently leading him out of the locker rooms and into the school hallway. “Ask me anything you want.”  
  
They walked at a lazy pace in no particular direction, there was still plenty of time before curfew came along. Outside was dark and cloudy through the windows. The corridor they were walking in was empty, it felt as if they were the only two people in the whole school, though Draco knew that if they turned a corner they were sure to find other students and professors and staff.  
  
Draco braced himself before asking quietly, “What happened to your parents?”  
  
Harry squeezed his hand and brought him closer to his side before answering, equally quiet.  
  
“You remember the horror stories from that old gang, the Death Eaters?” Draco nodded, already dreading where this was going. “The Halloween after I turned one, their leader, Tom Riddle, broke into the house we were living in, in Godric’s Hollow. The reports say that he killed my father first. They say that my mother had run upstairs to my nursery, apparently, she had a gun with her. So when Riddle got to my room, he shot mum and she shot him a second later. They say that she was trying to protect me. The rest of the gang had waited outside—and fled when the police got there. A neighbor had called because of the noise.”  
  
Harry’s voice had gotten quieter the longer he talked. Draco couldn’t see any signs that he was otherwise affected by talking about his parents’ deaths. No teary eyes, no squeaky voice. But he couldn’t get the gruesome images out of his head. _Two people were killed right in front of him. His_ mother _was shot right in front of him. And he can’t even remember her. How awful would it have been, to know that your parents were murdered in the same house you had been sleeping in as a baby? To know that your mother had tried to protect you, and died in your nursery?_ Draco felt his brain putting two more puzzle pieces together, _This must be what Hermione was talking about before. Harry had only said that his parents had died when he was little, not that they’d never even had the chance to raise him._  
  
Draco walked his boyfriend to one of the benches that lined the corridor walls and sat down with him, pressed tightly to his side. Harry’s arm was around his shoulders, the other hand still holding Draco’s own. He took a moment of silence before asking another question.  
  
“Where did you go? After your parents died, I mean.”  
  
The arm around Draco’s shoulders tensed slightly. He looked up at Harry, only to see him staring at the floor in front of them. It was a strained sort of silence, his fingers were fidgeting in Draco’s hand. The blond didn’t think he would get an answer to this question, but Harry seemed to push through whatever barrier had been holding the words in.  
  
“I was sent to my only living relatives. My mum’s sister, Petunia, and her husband, Vernon. They’d had their own boy, Dudley, a few months before I was born, and Petunia hadn’t spoken to my mother in years, so they were none too happy to find out that they were the only ones left to take me. The Dursley’s took me in besides, I guess they figured that it was better than foster care.”  
  
“There was no one else?” Draco could sense the dislike towards his relatives rolling off of Harry in waves. His words had a sharp edge—as if he wished he could use them to cut any ties to his aunt and uncle. _Hermione was right,_ Draco thought, _it’s a miracle that Harry’s the person he is now._  
  
“The Death Eaters got to everyone else. The detectives think it was some kind of revenge for mum shooting Riddle.”  
  
Draco could feel his resolve to stay strong withering. (How could a boy with such life inside him be surrounded by so much death? If there was so much darkness in his past, how did he manage to come out of it brighter? Harry was so kind and compassionate, and he was gentle even in his strength. How did a person from such a miserable background become like this?) He felt himself grasping for straws, for an explanation of how Harry could have possibly become who he is.  
  
“Didn’t you say you had a godfather? Who helped you buy your car?”  
  
All the tension that Harry’s body held seemed to melt away, and Draco felt himself relax in return. He pressed closer to the bigger boy’s side, trying to absorb all the warmth that the very early spring atmosphere denied him.  
  
“Yeah, Sirius. He was my dad’s best friend.” Harry hesitated like there was a part of the story he was reluctant to tell. He squeezed Draco’s hand and seemed to decide that he trusted the smaller boy. “He was in prison for twelve years, falsely accused of murder. When they found the guy he had supposedly killed, they let him go. He came for me as soon as he was cleared, about six months later the Dursley’s finally let him have custody. I was thirteen when I finally got to move in with him. The day I met Sirius was probably the happiest day of my entire life.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah. He’s like the best possible mix of a dad, roommate, and a best friend.”  
  
Looking at Harry’s small smile, a burst of joy exploded in Draco’s chest. _He deserves that. He deserves someone like Sirius._ He laid his head on Harry’s shoulder, done with his questions. For now, he was content to just sit here with him for as long as he could, soaking in the pleasant atmosphere that surrounded the two boys.  
  
But then Harry was jostling his shoulder, saying, “Draco, look!”  
  
Opening his eyes, Draco scanned the corridor for whatever had gotten Harry so excited. There was nothing. He looked up at his boyfriend, eyes narrowed.  
  
“It’s raining,” Harry explained. Looking out the window, he saw that it was pouring outside, rain sliding down the windows. A crash of thunder sounded; the lightning couldn’t have been very close to the school. The bigger boy stood up, heaving Draco up with him.  
  
“So? Where are we going?” Draco asked, nearly whining. He didn’t get a verbal response from the other boy. Harry was dragging him to a door that led outside, and it clicked.  
  
“Harry!” he exclaimed. He couldn’t tell whether he was excited or annoyed at being dragged into the rain by his boyfriend, but before he could decide, he was in the courtyard.  
  
A squeal stole out of Draco’s throat as the rain fell on him. It was more than a sprinkle, but he could see just fine and he wouldn’t get soaked for a while. It was a cold shock compared to how warm he had been just seconds ago. He heard Harry laughing, his face tilted upwards as if he were trying to drink in the rain.  
  
“And why exactly did you pull me out here?” Mock agitation laced Draco’s voice as he tried to keep a smile off his face.  
  
Harry looked back down at him rain dripping down his face and beading in his hair. There was a bright grin on his face, and Draco knew that for whatever reason, he was happy to be out in the rain if it meant being with Harry. “What, you don’t want to dance in the rain with me?” He brought Draco closer to his body—still warm even in the shivering rain—with his hands at his waist.  
  
Draco felt a giddy smile spreading his lips as he put his hands on Harry’s shoulders, sliding them up to link behind his neck.  
  
“I suppose I could,” he whispered.  
  
It felt like a moment in a cheesy chick-flick, dancing in the rain with Harry. Neither of them was very good, but that didn’t matter to Draco. They swayed in time to the sound of raindrops, the thunder a distant drumbeat. Their feet shuffled and there were a few times Draco almost slipped on the slick cobblestones, but he wouldn’t have rather been anywhere else. When Harry spun him, Draco laughed, and he felt freer than he had in months.  
  
When he looked back up at Harry and saw his smile and his beautiful green eyes, he couldn’t help but throw his arms around the other boy's neck and just _kiss_ him. Harry’s arms wound around his waist and held him there, kissing him just as fervently. Draco raked his hands through his black hair, which was drenched, trying to pull himself closer. His lips slid against Harry’s, messier than he would have liked due to the rain, but he didn’t mind. His chest was filled with butterflies, his heart was near to exploding with how elated he felt. He could have frozen time to just this moment, and be content. The entire world could have been watching them, and he wouldn’t have cared the slightest bit. Harry was holding him and kissing him in the rain like a scene in a cheesy romance novel, and everything was perfect.  
  
But then the thunder boomed closer, and Draco jolted, breaking the kiss. The rain started to pour heavier, and Draco knew that their moment of paradise was over. He realized how cold he was without Harry’s body pressed against his. Harry quickly pulled Draco to his side and started guiding him back into the school.  
  
Draco couldn’t stop smiling. His heart was pounding in his chest, his skin was tingly wherever Harry touched him. They closed the door to the courtyard behind them, and Draco saw that Harry was smiling, too.  
  
“Well,” Draco asked, “was it worth dragging me into the rain?”  
  
The other boy just smiled wider and swung his arm around Draco’s shoulders, and started walking down the corridor. Draco realized how late it must’ve been. _He must be walking me to my common room,_ he thought. He was a little sad that the day was already over.  
  
“Yeah, it was worth it. You look like a wet kitten.”  
  
The shorter boy screeched in outrage, shoving his boyfriend off him.  
  
“_Harry Potter you take that back right now!_” he shrieked. _A wet kitten?!_  
  
Harry howled with laughter, and it was such a wonderful sound that Draco couldn’t even stay mad at him. He even thought he heard his boyfriend snort, he was laughing so hard. Shaking his head, Draco just grabbed his hand and continued walking to his common room. The laughter only started dying down after he—completely accidentally—stepped on Harry’s foot. Hard.  
  
“Ow!”  
  
“You deserved that.”  
  
Harry just swooped in and kissed his temple as he whispered, “At least you’re _my_ wet kitten.”  
  
He looked up at his boyfriend, feeling something close to shyness. Draco’s face felt so hot he probably looked sunburned. He didn’t feel cold anymore.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Yeah.” Harry’s smile was soft and overflowing with fondness. They walked the rest of the way in a comfortable sort of silence, their intertwined hands swinging between them.  
  
When they reached the common room, Harry pressed a soft kiss to Draco’s forehead in farewell. The shorter boy glowed at the affection, and he felt a new sort of peace wash over him.  
  
“Goodnight, Harry.”  
  
“Night, kitten.”  
  
“_Harry!_”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I sense a new pet-name for Draco? I think I do. I hope you all liked it! Comments give me life, for real, so leave one! Like, seriously, I get all tingly and happy inside when I see that I have comments, so do it!


	12. Jealousy Is An Ugly Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco ignored the hesitancy flourishing in his heart and walked over; he climbed into Harry’s lap and curled up in his arms. He could have sobbed when Harry wound his strong arms around him, leaning back against the wall to support both their weights. He felt so unworthy of the warm comfort Harry offered. His heart ached and throbbed and his soul felt utterly wrecked, but it eased when Harry kissed his hair and then fit Draco’s head under his chin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo this took me forever to write, it was seriously soo hard. I hope it isn't complete trash, because it's kind of a really important chapter?? And it's the longest one yet?? But yeah, so I hope you all enjoy it!

It was absolutely mesmerizing, watching Draco’s hands as he drew. It was odd, seeing his typically meticulously clean hands covered in smudges, but Harry truly adored seeing this side of him. Even if it was with all their friends, in the Great Hall, during lunch. Watching the shapes on Draco’s pages transform into stunning works of art was positively fascinating. Although there was no color on the lily flowers he was creating, the depth and details were incredible. _He_ was incredible.  
  
(The intent was not lost on Harry, either. _Lily_ flowers. Since that night he’d told Draco about his parents, his past, his family, he’d been drawing lily flowers. He’d been painting them: Easter lilies, water lilies, daylilies, oriental lilies, calla lilies, trumpet lilies, even lily-of-the-valley. Draco had created pages and pages of lilies, every single one was different and more breathtaking than the last. They were all different colors, different vibrancies, and hues. Each was a different shape, with a different story held within its petals and leaves. When Harry had first seen them, his heart had skipped a beat. His smile had stretched so wide his cheeks ached and his eyes had pricked with tears, he was so unbelievably happy. He’d scooped Draco into his arms and peppered his face with kisses, bathing in the laughter that came from his boyfriend. He’d kissed his artist’s hands, his long, pale fingers. And since then, Draco hasn’t stopped drawing them)  
  
All of their friends were talking around them: Hermione was gossiping and giggling with Pansy about Terry Boot and his friends, Theo and Blaise were discussing some Maths assignment, complaining about how difficult it would be to complete in time for the next class. Draco seemed to be able to drown all of them out as he drew, and Harry was content to just sit next to him and watch him work.  
  
“He hasn’t drawn like that in months,” Pansy suddenly said from his other side, quietly so that Draco wouldn’t be distracted.  
  
“What do you mean?” Harry turned to her. “Why not?”  
  
Her dark eyes were trained on Draco’s hands as she replied, “His father thinks it’s a waste of time. He got annoyed at how much time Draco was spending with his art. He called him out on it, told him that he wasn’t any good, that it wasn’t going to get him where he needed to go in life.” Pansy paused, looking up at Harry, who was staring at her in shock. “His father loves him, in his own way. Lucius just doesn’t understand him.” A smile spread across her purple-painted lips. “So, thank you. For understanding him. For bringing this part of him back, when he couldn’t do it himself.”  
  
Harry’s eyes were wide at her implications. “I don’t—Pansy I don’t think it was me. I think he did it by himself.”  
  
“Well, Harry,” Pansy smirked, “your thoughts aren’t exactly known for their intellect or good sense.”  
  
Laughter burst from Harry’s mouth, causing Pansy’s sharp grin to widen. He’d grown fond of her teasing in the past few months; she was something different, always keeping him on his toes.  
  
She shook her head, laughing as she said to the whole group, “I have to get going, I’m meeting Terry.”  
  
Harry waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.  
  
Pansy smacked his arm, “Shut up, Potter.” Harry simply laughed at her as she swaggered off. He looked back at Hermione across from him, who was peering at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Her dark eyes were examining him like she would a science experiment. She glanced behind him, then back at Harry.  
  
“What?” he asked.  
  
“Incoming,” she warned, voice low.  
  
He only had time to draw his eyebrows together in confusion before someone sat down next to him, filling the spot where Pansy had just been.  
  
“Hey, Harry.”  
  
Cedric Diggory was beaming at him, a smile that seemed too bright. (That smile used to have him coming apart at the seams, always extracting a matching grin from him. His smooth voice used to have Harry falling on his knees. Those grey eyes had once looked at him with such love and adoration, his tanned fingers had traced the lines in Harry’s skin, known every inch of his body. Harry used to adore his dark, bronze-colored hair, his chiseled face, and his gentle laugh. There were a great many things Harry used to love about Cedric Diggory. But looking at him now, everything was so much different. Looking at him now, there was nothing Harry needed from him, nothing Harry _wanted_ from him) Conversation between Theo and Blaise sputtered out, and he could feel Draco’s attention shift away from his papers.  
  
“Cedric,” Harry acknowledged, trying his hardest to keep his voice composed, “what can I do for you?”  
  
Cedric’s grin faltered at Harry’s detached tone, but he quickly brought it back again. His eyes wandered for a moment, giving Harry a languorous once-over. He lingered on Harry’s lips, on the muscles under his brown skin, on his shoulders—which were now broader than his—before looking him in the eyes again.  
  
“How are you?” the older boy asked, “How is everything?”  
  
Harry’s brows drew together. _This is why he came over? To ask me how I am?_ He thought in bewilderment. _No. No that can’t be it._ His eyes darted over to Hermione, who looked equally baffled.  
  
“I’m alright,” Harry replied shortly.  
  
“Yeah? What about Teddy? He’s about two now, isn’t he? And Astrid?”  
  
“Teddy’s just fine, he’s talking and everything,” Harry divulged, “And Astrid couldn’t be more perfect.” He smiled despite himself—despite how it must have looked to Draco—then shook himself out of his reverie. He peered at the other boy with narrowed eyes, put out that he had been distracted so efficiently.  
  
“Is there something else you came for?” asked Harry.  
  
“I heard that Angelina’s leaving in a week. Do you have someone lined up for her spot on the team yet?” The innocent air returned to Cedric’s demeanor, but Harry could feel the tension, thick enough to cut. He knew Draco had seen Cedric’s roving look, his grip on his pencil was so strained his knuckles were white—well, whiter than usual.  
  
“No.” Harry gritted his teeth and shifted in his seat, closer to Draco. “Coach and I are holding try-outs.”  
  
Cedric only neatly scooted nearer to Harry in return, somehow making it look completely natural. His leg pressed into Harry’s thigh, Cedric’s hand was approaching his on the table. Harry’s stomach plummeted. _Not this again._ He felt the blood rushing to his face, thanking the heavens above that his skin was dark enough to hide his embarrassment. He prayed that Draco would see through this.  
  
“Oh? When?”  
  
“Thursday,” Harry said, quickly removing his hands from the table, “at six o’clock, on the football field.”  
  
He felt Draco grab his hand under the table, squeezing so tightly he was sure his bones would snap. His touch was reassuring, grounding. He finally felt as if he could breathe again.  
  
Running his tongue over his lips, Cedric languidly looked Harry up and down again before stating in a low voice, “I’ll be there.” His grey eyes finally seemed to notice Draco’s presence, but he didn’t seem fazed. His mouth stretched in an almost smug-looking smirk. He ran his hand through his already-mussed hair before looking at Hermione.  
  
“Nice to see you, Hermione.” Cedric’s hands went to his lap under the table. “How are you these days?”  
  
Hermione looked at him with a critical gaze, her eyes skeptical and her lips pursed. “I’m alright.” Her mouth twisted in a wry grin, and Harry knew that she was out for blood. “How’s Cho doing, Cedric?” She shot a glance at Harry, making sure that he was alright with this direction of the conversation. _Rip him a new one, ‘Mione,_ Harry thought, goading her on even if just in his own thoughts.  
  
Harry knew Cedric well enough to see the strain on his face, the fight within to keep the smile on his face. “I wouldn’t know, Hermione, we haven’t talked in a long while,” he replied. His voice was tight and uncomfortable. Hermione opened her mouth to fire more questions, her eyes glinting with wicked intent, but Cedric saw this and hurriedly stood up from the table.  
  
He turned to Harry, his smile softer and relaxed. “Harry,” his voice was gentle and affectionate, it made Harry’s heart ache and his lungs stutter against his will, “I miss you. I’ll… um, I’ll see you around.”  
  
And with that, he was gone as quickly as he had come. Draco released Harry’s hand under the table. Theo cleared his throat, Blaise shoved his friend’s shoulder.  
  
“Who. The _hell_. Was that,” Draco seethed. It didn’t sound so much like a question as a demand, an order.  
  
Harry whipped around to look at his boyfriend, panic fluttering in his chest. He felt his breathing stutter, his heart skipped a beat, his stomach twisting in knots. His hands started to sweat. Draco’s eyes were hard, his entire body was tense and rigid. He had completely abandoned his page of lilies in favor of staring at Harry with something akin to fury in his steely gaze.  
  
The bell rang for the end of lunch. _Dammit._  
  
“Draco,” Harry pleaded, “he’s my ex. Nothing is going on, I promise. Just—meet me after classes today. I don’t care where, but let me explain. Please?”  
  
Harry reached for Draco’s hands. Those grey eyes dropped.  
  
“Alright.” Draco released Harry’s hands and stood from the table even as Harry released a relieved breath. “I’ll meet you at your common room half an hour after classes end.”  
  
Draco wasn’t looking him in the eye as he spoke, instead choosing to stare at the floor. Harry’s heart was in his throat as he watched his boyfriend walk away with Theo and Blaise trailing behind him. Theo looked over his shoulder at the Great Hall’s doorway, shooting Harry a glare that reminded Harry of when they’d talked before Harry took Draco on their first date. He looked downright _murderous._  
  
Harry scrubbed his hands down his face, turning to look at Hermione. She had pity in her eyes.  
  
“Incoming? That’s all the warning I get?.”  
  
“Sorry.” 

***

Concentration was impossible. And Draco had tried everything. He’d thrown himself into his assignments during class, hung off every word Professor Binns droned, read every single word in the history textbook assignment, but nothing worked. His thoughts always came back around to Cedric Diggory.  
  
Cedric Diggory, who was handsome and undeniably good-looking. Who had looked at Harry with so much admiration and hope in his sparkling gray eyes, who had felt comfortable enough to press his leg into Harry’s and reach for his hand. Who had practically undressed Harry with his eyes; it was like he knew what lay underneath. Cedric Diggory, who had looked at Draco like it didn’t matter that he was there, it didn’t matter that he was the one holding Harry’s hand. Cedric Diggory, who had basically proclaimed his love for Harry, who had declared that he missed him, that he wanted him.  
  
It was absolutely disgusting.  
  
_He’s my ex,_ Harry had said. _Nothing is going on._  
  
Draco hadn’t known what to do, at that moment. His mind had just blanked. He’d known, subconsciously, that Harry had been in relationships before. He’d _known_. But Draco hadn’t really thought about it. He’d never thought about what he might do in the face of someone who had been with Harry, someone who had known him, loved him. He hadn’t been prepared.  
  
Not for the burning resentment in his chest. Not for the raging possessiveness he felt in his bones, for the ache to prove that Harry was _his_. Draco couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else, Cedric Diggory included, touching Harry. Kissing him. Loving him. He didn’t want anyone else curled up in bed with him, or laying their head on his broad shoulders. Draco didn’t want anyone else, either. He didn’t want anyone but Harry running their hands through his hair, or holding his hand, or watching him draw. He didn’t want anyone else.  
  
He _didn’t want anyone else._  
  
He just wanted to know what he was competing with.  
  
He didn’t want to be competing. Not for Harry. He wanted to be the one that Harry chose, over everyone else. Maybe it was a pipe dream or asking too much of his boyfriend, but it was what he wanted. (But he would compete for Harry. He would bulldoze over anyone who got in his way if it meant he could be with Harry. Draco would do everything in his power to make sure that he got to be with Harry)  
  
“Hey.” Pansy poked his shoulder from beside him. “Did something happen after I left? Theo looked about ready to wring someone’s neck when you guys walked in.”  
  
Draco waited until Professor Binns sat down at his desk before answering. “Cedric Diggory happened.” The name tasted like poison coming from his mouth. His stomach twisted, his heart plummeted.  
  
The bell rang, and Draco immediately left his seat, aiming to get to the halls before Pansy could hold him back. She caught up to him easily, shoving other kids out of her way until she was at his side.  
  
“What do you mean?” she asked.  
  
At the behest of a split-second decision, Draco grabbed Pansy’s wrist and dragged her into an empty classroom.  
  
“The second after you left, Harry’s ex-boyfriend Cedric Diggory showed up,” Draco seethed, “I think he wants to get back together with Harry. He was totally all up in Harry’s business, he tried to hold his hand! When he left, he told Harry that he missed him.”  
  
Pansy’s purple lips fell open. “You’re kidding, right?”  
  
“Not even a little bit.” Draco held up his hand when Pansy’s eyes got that familiar questioning glimmer. “I don’t have any of the information you’re probably about to ask for, Harry didn’t have time to explain anything to me before the bell rang.”  
  
“This is killing you, isn’t it?”  
  
Draco nodded slowly, reluctantly. Pansy knew him too well. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, rubbing comforting circles into his back. He dropped his head onto her shoulder.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Pansy whispered, “Harry isn’t dating Cedric for a reason, Draco. If he wanted to be with him, he would be. But he wants to be with you. I can promise you that.”  
  
The blond boy felt his shoulders sag, his body releasing tension. “How can you be so sure? Do you know something that I don’t?”  
  
“No, silly, it’s called common sense.”  
  
He couldn’t even find it within himself to laugh. Pansy pulled away and looked at him with concern in her dark eyes. He wished that she could talk to Harry for him. He didn’t want anyone else talking to Harry, at the same time.  
  
“What are you _so_ upset about, anyway?” Pansy demanded, “That Cedric talked to Harry? That Harry didn’t immediately get rid of him?”  
  
_All of it. None of it,_ Draco thought. He shoved his hands into his pockets, dropping her gaze. “I just… I don’t like the thought of someone else with Harry. Yeah, sure, I didn’t like that Cedric talked to Harry, I didn’t like that Harry didn’t tell him to screw off.” Draco’s frustration returned, he scraped his hands through his hair. “I don’t know, Pansy! I just… I want to be with Harry and I want Harry to want to be with _me!_ Not some half-wit bastard with a pretty face.”  
  
“Draco, what do you think you’ve been _doing_ for the past two and a half months?” Pansy exclaimed. “Don’t you think that if he _wanted_ to be with Cedric, he would be? Do you think that Harry would put up with your grumpy ass in the mornings if he didn’t _want you?_ That he would take you out to lunch when you can’t handle the noise in the Great Hall? Do you think that Harry would give you his football jersey to wear on game days, or his hoodies when you’re cold, if he didn’t want to be with you? For heaven’s sake, Draco, _pull yourself together and look at the bigger picture here._”  
  
By the time she’d finished, Pansy was pink-faced and had planted her hands on her hips, a stance that Draco knew all too well. It usually meant that whatever she was ranting about, she was right.  
  
And she was. She was completely right. Harry had done all those things for him and more. Every time without fail, he had given Draco his hoodie—if he had one on him—when he complained of the cold. When Harry had first asked him to wear his football jersey, he’d been so shy about it—so nervous—like he’d been afraid that Draco might say no. Far from rejecting him, Draco had beamed so brightly, he had felt the exhilaration exploding in his chest. He’d worn that jersey with pride every game day since; even if it was big on him—practically falling off his shoulders—Draco wouldn’t have had it any other way. With Harry’s last name and number—thirty-one—emblazoned on the back of it, Draco felt his boyfriend’s presence with him throughout the entire day.  
  
“Look,” Pansy pinched the bridge of her nose, “I get it, okay? I do. You’re uncertain, you’ve never been in a relationship before. It’s okay to have feelings, it _always_ is. But you _have_ to think with your head, too, Draco.”  
  
He took his hands from his pockets and started fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt, feeling the shame start to seep in.  
  
Pansy stepped in front of him, a sympathetic gleam in her dark eyes. “Just go and talk to him, yeah? Figure all your stuff out.”  
  
Draco nodded before giving her a quick embrace and leaving the empty classroom, making his way for Harry’s common room. 

Harry opened the door when Draco knocked with a remorseful look in his green eyes. The shame buried itself deeper in Draco’s gut just looking at him. But then he recalled how Harry hadn’t done anything to push Cedric away. He hadn’t told him that his advances weren’t welcome. He hadn’t done anything but talk and smile at him. The scene replayed itself over and over in his mind, and each time the focus turned to Cedric and his stupidly handsome face.  
  
So when Harry grabbed his hand and took him to his dorm room, Draco ripped it away as soon as the door closed behind them.  
  
“Are you—,” Harry paused, dropping his gaze to the floor and reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, “are you mad at me? Is there something I did to upset you?” His green eyes darted a glance at Draco’s tensing jaw. “I know that Cedric was… I know that he was being an ass, and he was making everyone uncomfortable—shit, he made _me_ uncomfortable—”  
  
“Really?” Draco blurted, his voice rising with each word, his fingers curled into fists. “You didn’t appear very uncomfortable to me, Harry! You seemed just fine, chatting it up with your ex-boyfriend while I was sitting _right there._ You looked just fine with Cedric touching you, with him looking at you like that!”  
  
Harry’s entire body froze. Silence fell over the room in a thick blanket.  
  
“You think that I… I wasn’t… I…” Draco could see Harry’s eyes widen in what looked like panic, his breath was coming faster, his hand was gripping the hair at the back of his neck. The other boy closed his eyes and his shoulders moved with deep, rhythmic breaths. His lips were moving—apparently without his knowledge. It looked like he was counting.  
  
Alarm rushed through Draco’s veins and guilt tore viciously at his insides. _I was shouting. I just… I just yelled at my boyfriend. At Harry,_ he lamented. Every ounce of anger flooded out of his body, every previous thought was swept out of his mind. Everything Pansy had said came rushing back to him. He unclenched his hands and took a step toward Harry, whose eyes were still closed and seemed to have finished counting, raising his hands in front of him like he would calm an animal.  
  
“Harry?”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Harry opened his eyes and folded his arms across his chest. His voice was quiet, almost fragile. “I’m so sorry, that I made you feel like that. I know I should’ve asked him to leave, I should’ve pushed him away. I just—I was shocked, and I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t want to hurt him. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”  
  
Draco’s heart twisted. His chest contracted, his stomach dropped.  
  
“No, Harry. You didn’t—I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry,” Draco said softly. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, didn’t know what to say to make this better. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands. An uneasy, nearly painful smile was plastered on his face. It must have looked more like a grimace. “It was just… a very inconvenient way to meet and learn about your ex-boyfriend. I got jealous. I got angry. I didn’t deal with it very well.” Draco was drowning in the words he hadn’t yet said, the words that were strangling him. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Harry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m so sorry.”  
  
Harry sat down on his bed with his head in his hands. Draco’s heart was beating double-time, his fingers were fidgeting. _Please, please, please,_ he prayed. The tension in the room was so palpable, he could have cut it with a pair of scissors. His hands started to sweat. When the other boy looked up from his hands, Draco’s relief could have made him faint. Harry waved him over to the bed.  
  
Draco ignored the hesitancy flourishing in his heart and walked over; he climbed into Harry’s lap and curled up in his arms. He could have sobbed when Harry wound his strong arms around him, leaning back against the wall to support both their weights. He felt so unworthy of the warm comfort Harry offered. His heart ached and throbbed and his soul felt utterly wrecked, but it eased when Harry kissed his hair and then fit Draco’s head under his chin.  
  
“I met Cedric about a month before I turned sixteen,” Harry began in a soft voice. “We had both dated this girl, Cho Chang. She’s a year older than us, in Cedric’s year. That’s kind of how we found each other. We dated for a couple months—five, maybe six, I don’t really remember. But during the last month, he’d started acting strange. I couldn’t pinpoint what it was, still can’t, but something was off. I found out he’d been sleeping with Cho, walked in on them in his dorm. He tried to get out of it, tried to convince me not to break up with him, all that stuff. But I just… I couldn’t be with him anymore. I’ve barely talked to him since then.”  
  
Harry ran a hand through Draco’s hair, a thrill of pleasure running down his spine. The smaller boy was trying to comprehend what he’d just heard, what he’d just been told. _I’m such an idiot,_ he chided. _Pansy was right. I’ll have to thank her later._  
  
“You’ve got nothing to be jealous about, Draco.” Harry shifted Draco’s body until they were facing each other, Draco’s legs crossed behind Harry’s back and his hands slowly sliding up his broad shoulders. “I want _you._” Harry smiled softly, carding his fingers through Draco’s blond hair. “You’re _my_ kitten.”  
  
Tears welled behind Draco’s eyes. Looking deep into Harry’s eyes, he started searching for any sign of falsehood, or lies. But the only thing he could find was a desperate kind of earnestness. Draco’s lips spread in a wide smile, his chest exploded with elation, his heart erupted with ecstasy.  
  
He leaned forward to kiss Harry, slanting his lips over his boyfriend’s in such a gentle manner it barely even qualified as a kiss. But even the slightest touch sent shivers shooting down his spine and goosebumps erupted on his skin. His lips were soft, and moved against Draco’s so tenderly—the moment couldn’t have felt more perfect.  
  
Harry slowly pulled away. Draco opened his eyes to see his boyfriend already looking at him, his hands moving to cup Draco’s face. The blond boy leaned into his hands, savoring the way that Harry traced his lips with his thumb, the way that he was looking at him like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. Draco linked his fingers behind Harry’s neck. Looking deep into his sparkling green eyes, he realized something. It had been building up from the moment they’d met, and he was sure that it had clicked before this moment. But now felt like the perfect time.  
  
Draco didn’t feel any hesitation, didn’t feel any fear in his heart.  
  
“Harry?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
The smile on Draco’s face was overflowing with such unadulterated happiness when he declared: “I love you.”  
  
Almost immediately, Harry grinned so widely his eyes crinkled. Draco could see the silver lining his eyes. He was sure that he sported a matching smile, so overwhelmed with every emotion running through his veins. His fingers tangled in the bigger boy’s black hair, marveling at how soft it was despite how messy. He _loved_ this hair. He loved the boy attached to it.  
  
Harry looked completely euphoric as he replied, with no hint of doubt in his voice, “I love you, too.”  
  
Draco’s heart skipped a beat, then started pounding double-time. He felt nearly light-headed. He crushed his lips to Harry’s, bringing his body as close to the other boy’s as possible. His chest pressed into Harry’s, his hands ran up and down his strong shoulders. He wanted to be zipped into the same skin with him, he wanted to learn every inch of him, he wanted to touch him and taste him and _love_ him.  
  
Harry parted Draco’s lips with his tongue, slipping inside, sweeping across his own tongue almost lazily, like he had all the time in the world to explore every inch of him. A keening sound escaped from the back of Draco’s throat, but he didn’t care. He just wanted Harry closer, wanted him flush against his skin. Harry’s hands moved from his face to his hips. His fingers trailed underneath Draco’s shirt, running over his stomach, moving along his skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Heat curled and writhed in the pit of Draco’s stomach. His head was spinning; the smell of Harry, the taste of him, the feeling of his hands on his skin, it all swirled together, making him dizzy.  
  
Too soon for his taste, Draco ran out of breath and was forced to break the kiss. He looked up at Harry and wished that he could freeze this moment. The other boy’s smile was soft and tender, even as his hands remained on Draco’s skin. He leaned in and rubbed his nose against Draco’s, his smile becoming wider. Giggles burst from the smaller boy’s mouth despite his still heaving breath.  
  
“I love you, Draco Malfoy,” Harry whispered. His fingers began tracing circles into Draco’s skin, and Draco’s laugh turned into a smile that made his cheeks ache. His chest filled with butterflies, his heart was bursting at the seams. _I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,_ Draco thought to himself.  
  
The possibility of having this—someone like Harry, to love him, hold him—had always seemed impossible to Draco. It had always seemed like a fantasy, something that he saw others have but never experienced for himself. Looking at Harry, he realized that he never wanted to let this go.  
  
“Harry Potter. I love you, too.” 

***

It was absolutely mesmerizing, watching Draco’s hands as he drew. It was new, seeing his typically meticulously clean hands covered in smudges, but Harry truly adored seeing this side of him. Laying across Draco’s bed, in the silence of his dormitory room, he was utterly entranced. Watching the shapes on Draco’s pages transform into stunning works of art was positively fascinating. Although there was no color on the portrait he was creating, the depth and details were incredible. _He_ was incredible.  
  
Harry had eagerly agreed when Draco asked if he could draw him. He felt honored that Draco thought him worthy of his beloved pencils and charcoal.  
  
But then again, Draco loved him. He’d said so himself, with his own lips and his own words, he’d said it in the way that he kissed him, with so much passion and conviction it made Harry’s heart pound. He was saying it in the way that he took every detail from the scene in front of him and transferred it to his paper, in the way that his eyes lingered on Harry even as he drew.  
  
And Harry knew with every fiber of his being that he was in love with this boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's trashy, I'm sorry. I wrote most of it at like three in the morning, for some unknown reason of fate. Or something. But yeah. I love comments, seriously, they give me life. So if you feel even the slightest inclination to leave one, do it! I hope you guys liked it! <3


	13. Disqualified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s temple, nuzzling his hair and sliding his hands from Harry’s shoulders to his waist and around to his stomach, tracing random shapes and circles onto his shirt. Harry could feel his boyfriend’s gentle smile against his skin, his delicate fingers leaving cool trails on his skin through his worn shirt. He felt Draco’s heartbeat through his back, his own falling in time to match the rhythm. An almost drowsy feeling filled his head—only it was less like sleepiness and more like he was drunk on relaxation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, this took me three days, twelve hours of sleep, and two breakdowns to write. So I hope it's not complete trash. Just as a heads up, I have a lot going on right now with my school's musical, it's kicking my trash and I'm just slightly sleep-deprived. So I might not be able to post chapters as regularly as I have been. I hope you like the chapter!

The southern common room was humming with the sounds of students enjoying their Saturday off classes, and Harry was no different. His eyes fluttered closed and his head rolled back onto Draco’s shoulder behind him, wholly relishing the other boy’s hands kneading the muscles in his shoulders, neck, and back with practiced movements. A guttural sound that was startlingly similar to purring rumbled in his throat. They were both sitting across one of the couches, Draco sat behind Harry with his legs on either side of his own, Harry’s back leaning against the smaller boy’s chest. He was perfectly content to just stay right where he was, engulfed in his boyfriend’s richly-scented aroma; lemons and something flowery, like lavender.  
  
Blaise, Theo, and Pansy were all piled on top of each other on the couch facing theirs, while Hermione was seated on the floor near Harry’s knees. A companionable sort of stillness filled the atmosphere around them, almost like a bubble had surrounded their little group. Pansy was testing her newfound skills on Blaise’s hair—more difficult to braid thanks to the shortness of it, but that didn’t stop her attempts. Theo was chatting with Hermione about the football tryouts that had taken place two days previous, which he had decided to participate in—if only to ensure that Cedric didn’t make the team.  
  
Harry was happy to be able to say that he had successfully driven off his ex-boyfriend. Cedric had nearly made a fool of himself with how hard he had tried to catch Harry’s eye despite his paying attention to the other competitors. Harry had been attentively studying Theo, impressed by how much the boy had downplayed himself when speaking of his interest in football. He had some bloody _excellent_ potential that Harry was sure he would be able to whip up into a formidable player in no time. He had been able to give Theo the spot on the team without favoritism clouding his judgment. Cedric had tried to corner him afterward, but Harry had efficiently put him in his place, as gently as he could manage. Afterward, Draco had practically dragged him to his dorm room, an easel and his assorted paints awaiting them.  
  
Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s temple, nuzzling his hair and sliding his hands from Harry’s shoulders to his waist and around to his stomach, tracing random shapes and circles onto his shirt. Harry could feel his boyfriend’s gentle smile against his skin, his delicate fingers leaving cool trails on his skin through his worn shirt. He felt Draco’s heartbeat through his back, his own falling in time to match the rhythm. An almost drowsy feeling filled his head—only it was less like sleepiness and more like he was drunk on relaxation.  
  
“We should do something today,” Pansy complained, having given up on the intricate style of braid she had been attempting. Harry opened an eye to peer at her bored expression, the corners of his mouth lifted in amusement. He just settled deeper into Draco’s body, surprised that the other boy wasn’t crushed by his weight. Draco only shifted his hips to better fit him, cradling him with his body. (It was soothing, being wrapped up in Draco’s body. He was a cooling presence, easing the heat that constantly overwhelmed Harry. Although Draco was the smaller of the two, there were times he insisted on holding Harry, demanded to be the one supporting _him._ And Harry loved every second of it: the coddling, the cuddling, all of it. He was usually expected to be the supportive one, the first one to offer a shoulder to cry on, the one that offered comfort, protection, love. And while he loved being that person, there were times that the pressure threatened to strangle him. But with Draco, it was more of an even balance. They were both there for each other, both of them supported one another)  
  
“And what,” Harry felt the vibration of Draco’s voice in his chest as he spoke, the sensation soothing and pleasant, “were you thinking of doing, exactly? Because if it’s not absolutely amazing, it’s not worth leaving this couch.”  
  
Pansy’s eyebrow raised and Harry let out a laugh, provoking her grin to widen.  
  
“We could go to lunch, or something?” she suggested, “A movie?”  
  
Draco grunted. “Not good enough.” His pale, cold fingers slipped under Harry’s shirt, sliding up the toned lines of his lower stomach. The sensation never failed to send tingles down Harry’s spine, goosebumps erupting on his skin, and a rush of a cool sort of warmth through his veins. Draco’s lips shifted down to his neck, pressing a kiss there. Harry tilted his head to give him better access, his eyes flickering shut and a soft smile spreading on his lips at the gentle manner in which Draco proceeded to kiss him. _I wish we could just stay here,_ Harry thought.  
  
But he also knew that Draco hadn’t eaten this morning, and was probably starving, even if he refused to acknowledge it. Harry had noticed that about Draco, that every once in awhile, he would skip meals and act like he was perfectly fine. Just as he opened his lips to say so, Blaise interrupted him.  
  
“Oh, come on! We can’t just sit around all day, doing nothing. And food sounds good.”  
  
“I could eat,” Theo approved.  
  
Harry opened his eyes again to look at Hermione, who nodded in agreement. He waited a moment, waiting for Draco to complain again about leaving the couch or not being hungry, but his boyfriend seemed to have tuned everyone out in favor of burying his face in Harry’s neck.  
  
Letting out a huff of a laugh, Harry said, “Alright.” He started moving to get up off the couch. Immediately, Draco locked his arms around Harry’s chest and crossed his legs over his hips, bringing him back down to his own body with a surprising amount of force.  
  
“Where are you going?” he whined, dragging his nose up the column of Harry’s neck, kissing behind his ear. Draco’s fingers dug into the muscle on his chest, his lips moved from his ear to reach around to his face.  
  
“To get my car keys,” Harry laughed. “We’re going out to lunch, and you’re coming with us.”  
  
He heard Draco groan from behind him—but when he went to stand again, Draco just remained attached to his back, almost like a monkey would. His arms moved to clutch at his shoulders when Harry stood upright, shaking his head at Draco’s antics. Theo and Blaise burst into snickers while Pansy took out her phone to snap a picture and Hermione covered her mouth to try and keep her own laughter to a minimum.  
  
“_Nooo,_” Draco exaggerated, drawing out the word even as Harry hooked his elbows through the other boy’s knees to better support him on his back. He knew very well that this was most likely the fastest way to get his keys and to his car with the least amount of resistance from Draco.  
  
He started walking towards the door and said to the others, “We’ll be at my car in less than ten minutes, meet us there.” The chuckles receded as he walked out of the common room and into the corridor.  
  
“All six of us aren’t going to fit in your car, you know,” Draco pointed out.  
  
“They can squish in the backseat.”  
  
Harry could feel the defeated mood of his boyfriend oozing out of him. He smiled, knowing that he’d won and that Draco wasn’t truly upset. He hefted the other boy higher onto his back, jostling him a bit just to see what he’d do.  
  
“Ow!”  
  
Draco had pinched the tender part of his bicep—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to let him know that he didn’t like it.  
  
“You’re lucky I love you.”  
  
Harry smiled at the words that were whispered threateningly in his ear. _I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing him say it,_ Harry beamed.  
  
“I know.” 

When they arrived at Harry’s car, all four of their friends were huddled around it, unprepared for the chill in the early spring air. Draco was still clinging to Harry’s back, but he didn’t mind carrying his lightweight boyfriend around if it made him happy and got him to eat.  
  
Pansy looked annoyed. “Harry dearest, how exactly are you going to fit six people in a car that only have five seats?”  
  
Draco answered in Harry’s stead, sarcasm lacing his voice, “Well, Pansy, I suppose you’ll just have to sit on someone’s lap.” Pansy glared at Draco and planted her hands on her hips, letting out a miffed huff.  
  
Harry chuckled and unlocked the car, opening the passenger side door and depositing Draco inside before getting in the driver’s side. He left the other four to figure out their own seating arrangement. Hermione ended up sitting in the middle since she was the smallest, with Theo behind Draco and Pansy on his lap, which left Blaise behind Harry.  
  
Looking in the rearview mirror as he started the car, he saw Hermione glance at Blaise—who was laughing at Pansy smacking away Theo’s hands on her waist—and then look back down at her fiddling hands, the smallest of smiles on her face. He knew what that meant; he’d seen it more times than he could count. A devilish smile split his lips. He was looking forward to talking to her about this later. 

***

The only downside to Harry’s car was the heater. It always took what seemed like forever to warm up. The chill in the air seeped into Draco’s bones. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to conserve what warmth he had left. Luckily for Draco, Harry noticed his shivering.  
  
“Blaise,” Harry said over the radio, “do me a favor and hand me the hoodie that was on your seat.”  
  
Draco snatched the hoodie the moment Blaise gave it to Harry, pulling it over his head. It was a deep navy blue fabric that was soft to the touch. Had he been standing, he was sure the hoodie would have almost completely covered his thighs with how big it was on him—he was able to wrap the ends of the sleeves around his hands and he still had plenty of room. He buried his nose in the fabric, surrounded by the familiar, comforting smell of Harry. The cold left him almost immediately.  
  
Draco looked up at Harry through his lashes. His boyfriend was trying his hardest to keep his eyes on the road, but he kept glancing at Draco, a tender smile gracing his lips.  
  
“Where are we going?” Theo asked, nearly shoving Pansy off his lap and into the window to get closer to them. Draco looked around his seat just in time to see her violently smack him upside the head. His hand went to his hair and he turned to her with wide eyes and his brows drawn together.  
  
“Ow! What the hell was that for?”  
  
“What do you mean, _what the hell was that for?_” Pansy sputtered. “You almost pushed me out of the car, you dimwit!”  
  
“Now, now, children,” Draco smirked and turned back around in his seat to see Harry holding back laughter. “No fighting in the car. Harry’s trying to drive.” He reached across the console and entwined his fingers with Harry’s. The sounds of Pansy and Theo’s bickering slowly died out.  
  
“Okay, but really. Where are we going?” Theo repeated.  
  
“There’s a little sushi place downtown that Draco’s been wanting to go to,” Harry answered. Giddiness flooded through Draco. He’d only mentioned the restaurant in passing, but Harry always seemed to remember everything he said. Since he’d heard about the place opening a few months ago, he’d wanted to go there, the sole reason that it was exactly the kind of place his father would never permit him to step foot in. The place was downtown, and Lucius Malfoy was known for never settling for anything less than high-class restaurants and service. And while Draco enjoyed those things, he also hated his father’s attitude towards anything he deemed below him.  
  
Also, sushi. He’d had it once, a few years ago, and absolutely loved it.  
  
Draco leaned over the console and planted a kiss on Harry’s cheek. Harry swiftly glanced at him and squeezed his hand. _He knows,_ Draco thought, _he always seems to know._  
  
“Sushi sounds good,” Blaise commented. In the rearview mirror, Draco saw Hermione nod in agreement. Tilting his head in interest, he noticed she was playing with her fingers, noticed the fleeting glances she gave him as they talked quietly with one another. _This should be interesting._  
  
Harry pulled into the parking lot and stopped the car. Pansy immediately opened her door and practically flew out. Draco chuckled as Harry walked around the car to open Draco’s door before he could do it himself.  
  
“Are you going to make him carry you inside, as well?” Hermione questioned with a sly smile. With a sarcastic laugh, Draco huddled into Harry’s side and walked through the door to Suzanne’s Sushi. The rest of them followed. Inside, it looked almost like a coffee house crossed with a restaurant, it had the same cozy air. It was a surprisingly nice place. The walls were painted in color blocks of black, white, orange, and green. There were tables scattered around, little flower vases filled with purple blossoms placed in the center of each. The place was buzzing with the noise of people, not exactly busy but enough to keep the staff occupied.  
  
The waitress that greeted them had a pretty, heart-shaped face, shiny black hair pulled into a messy ponytail, and brown skin only a shade or two darker than Harry’s. Her black eyes immediately caught on him, looking him up and down, a satisfied smile pulling at her full, glossed lips. She finally noticed Draco stuck to his side and immediately looked away from both of them, instead choosing to look at Theo. A smug feeling spread in Draco’s chest.  
  
“How many in your party?” she asked. Her name-tag read _Pavarti._  
  
“Six,” he answered.  
  
“Right, just follow me this way.” She grabbed a few menus out of a holder on the greeter’s stand and walked down the aisle to a circular booth in the corner. Once they were all seated, she set down the menus and said she would be back in a few minutes to take their orders. As she left, her eyes darted again to Harry, a speculative look in her eyes before she turned and walked away.  
  
Hermione snickered into her hand from Harry’s other side. “Well, Harry, someone thinks you’re quite a sight for sore eyes.” Blaise, Theo, and Pansy joined in her laughter while Harry just shook his head with a fond smile and wrapped his arm around Draco’s shoulders.  
  
“Well,” Draco said, laying one of his legs across Harry’s, looking up at his boyfriend’s handsome face, “I don’t blame her.” Harry chuckled, then leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Draco’s lips. Warmth spread in his chest, and he laid his head on the taller boy’s shoulder.  
  
“I swear, Harry, he’s worse than Teddy, climbing all over you,” Hermione laughed.  
  
_Teddy._ Draco had heard that name before. Cedric had asked Harry about someone named Teddy when he’d come to talk to him at lunch a few days ago. Draco had meant to ask about it, but it had slipped his mind. Cedric had mentioned an Astrid as well, and the way Harry had talked about them made them sound like children.  
  
So, with furrowed brows, Draco asked, “Who’s Teddy?”  
  
The smile on Harry’s face was bright and immediate. He dug his phone out from his pants pocket, talking as he scrolled through photos. “He’s my cousin. Well, sort of. It’s kind of like he’s my nephew, too. I don’t know. His dad, Remus, is Sirius’s best friend. They were both best friends of my mum and dad, too.” Harry stopped scrolling and handed his phone to Draco. The photo was one of Harry and a little boy, no more than two years old. The boy—Teddy—was sitting on Harry’s shoulders in a stairway, a beaming grin on his young face like he had been laughing. The thing that caught his eye, however, was Teddy’s teal blue hair.  
  
Harry seemed to sense his train of thought. “He begged his mum for weeks to have his hair the same color as hers. The dye is designed to only last a few months, but it hasn’t washed out yet. He’s probably keeping it in with his own stubbornness,” he laughed. Harry swiped across the phone to a new picture, this one of him holding a baby wrapped in a purple blanket in a hospital room. “That’s Astrid, his little sister. Tonks and Remus only had her about nine months ago.”  
  
In the photo, Harry had tears in his eyes and a smile so bright it was blinding even through the screen. Behind Harry with his hands on Harry’s shoulders was a man with shoulder-length, messy black hair. His face was ever so slightly wrinkled with his grin, his body was thin, and his eyes were shining as he looked down at Astrid.  
  
Harry caught Draco looking at him and pointed out, “That’s Sirius behind me. That picture was taken the day Astrid was born.” Draco looked up at his boyfriend to see him smiling affectionately down at Astrid.  
  
“Wait,” Pansy interrupted from Draco’s other side, “baby pictures? Give me the phone, immediately. I need to see this.” Harry laughed and handed her the phone, chuckling at her cooing noises when she scrolled through his pictures, showing Theo beside her. When he looked back down at Draco, the smaller boy felt affection flooding his body. (Harry was somehow everything at once. He was gentle, kind, loving. He was the epitome of all that was good. But he was also strong. He wasn’t afraid to protect those he loved, he wasn’t afraid to fight for them. He was… he was _everything_)  
  
Draco pressed himself closer to Harry’s side, wrapping his arms around the taller boy’s waist, never looking away from his green eyes. He set his chin on Harry’s chest, just looking at him.  
  
Just then, the waitress returned with an expectant look on her face. Everyone quickly picked something off the menus—most likely completely botching the pronunciation—and ordered before she left again. Draco cuddled deeper into Harry’s body, savoring his warmth for the rest of lunch. 

***

The drive back to Hogwarts was quiet. In the backseat, Pansy swiped through Harry’s photos with Theo, cooing over the ones with Astrid especially. Hermione and Blaise were silently looking out of the window, watching the road go by. Harry held Draco’s hand over the center console, rubbing circles into his soft skin with his thumb. The radio was a distant background noise, Draco humming along to the slow melody. When Harry parked in the school’s garage, the calm atmosphere followed them out of the car and into the school’s corridors as they made their way to the southern common room once again. Harry held Draco’s hand and walked behind Pansy and Theo—who were now giggling at the pictures of Draco on his phone—swinging their hands between them. Harry could hear Hermione babbling excitedly about the books her parents had sent her, telling Blaise all about the new things she’d been studying.  
  
And then there was a shout from behind them, echoing off the corridor walls.  
  
“Harry!”  
  
Ron.  
  
Harry froze mid-step.  
  
Every instinct in Harry’s body was at war with one another, some telling him to run, others urging him to turn and punch the red-headed dimwit in the jaw. Neither sounded like it would do him any good in the long run. He felt more than saw his friends stop walking, felt their silence fall around him. He felt Hermione’s presence appear at his side, calming and unwavering; felt Draco squeeze his hand before he turned to look at the person he hadn’t talked to in months. The person he’d called his friend.  
  
Ron stopped a few feet away from Harry, his hands shoved into his pockets, his blue eyes scanning the face of each person that had fanned out to stand on either side of Harry before settling on the man himself. Concentrating on taking deep, even breaths, Harry met his gaze. The contempt that Harry had grown familiar to seeing there was strangely absent, the scorn and condescension that had grown in place of their friendship appeared to have withered.  
  
“Can we talk? Please?”  
  
The increased pressure on his hand made Harry look down at Draco, who whispered, “You don’t have to, Harry. You can walk away right now, you don’t have to say a word, and none of us would blame you.” The blond boy lifted his other hand to brush through Harry’s black hair, bringing the smallest of smiles to his face. “It’s okay not to talk to him, for now.” Draco’s gaze was steady and determined, bolstering Harry’s own confidence. He could do this. _I can do this._  
  
“It’s okay,” Harry whispered back. “Just… take everyone else to your common room, I’ll meet you there.” He lowered his voice even further. “Keep an eye on Hermione for me, try to keep her talking, okay?”  
  
At Draco’s nod, Harry kissed his boyfriend’s forehead and released his hand. He turned to Hermione on his other side. The shuttered look in her eyes worried him, but he trusted Draco to do as he asked. He pressed a kiss to her hair before Draco swung an arm around her shoulders, leading her and the rest of their friends to the southern common room.  
  
Harry saw Theo glance over his shoulder, worry furrowing his brows before he looked at Ron. His face became harder than stone, his eyes turned fierce. Theo looked back at Harry before Pansy tugged on his arm to take the turn down the hall, and they all disappeared.  
  
“Harry?”  
  
When he turned around, Harry took a deep breath, feeling the air wash through him, easing some of the tension his rigid body held.  
  
“What do you want, Ron?”  
  
“I,” the red-headed boy swallowed hard, “I’m so sorry, Harry. I’m sorry for saying those awful things to you, for just assuming the worst of you.” Ron removed one hand from his pockets to rub at the back of his neck. “Ginny came and told me everything. Almost beat me up for being so stupid. I know you didn’t just… I’m sorry. I was horrible to you.”  
  
“_Was?_ Ron, you’ve been a _complete jackass_ to all of us for the past three months! Not just to me, either. Hermione, Draco, all of us. It’s not just about what you said to me anymore!” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “You got back together with Lavender, of all things! Do you not remember how _awful_ that was? You completely cut out Hermione and I, just like you did the last time.”  
  
“I _know!_ Harry, believe me, I _know._” Ron hesitated. He dragged a hand through his hair and down his face. “I know. I don’t even know what I was thinking. I was just—I was trying to protect Hermione from getting hurt again.”  
  
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Harry’s fists clenched. His breathing stuttered.  
  
“Your damn boyfriend! He hurt her, Harry. And—”  
  
“And he _apologized!_ Draco isn’t the same person that he was, Ron, and you would know that if you’d bothered to take your head out of your ass. If you’d just listened to what Hermione was trying to tell you—” Harry cut himself off, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. “We could have avoided all of this _shit_ if you’d just _listened_ to us!”  
  
Ron’s face reddened, almost the same shade of his hair. His eyes had taken on an angry glint, his voice rising.  
  
“So what? You’re just choosing him over your best friend?”  
  
“I shouldn’t _have_ to!”  
  
Harry’s chest moved with heaving breaths, his hands fisted in his hair. His jaw was clenched so tightly he was sure his teeth would crack. His stomach twisted, he felt as though he was going to be sick. Tears pricked behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. _Not here. not now, not where he can see._  
  
Ron looked down at the ground. His shoulders slumped. He backed away a few steps, moving to lean his back against the corridor wall.  
  
“You’re right,” Ron whispered. “I’m sorry. I wanted to apologize to you. To make things better. I didn’t want to fight with you.” He slid down the wall to sit on the floor, his forehead against his knees. Nearly against his will, Harry moved to sit beside him, his head against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Waiting. Hoping.  
  
For a few moments, the only sound Harry could hear was his own breathing.  
  
“I should’ve listened to you and Hermione. I should’ve given Draco a chance. There really isn’t any good excuse. I’m sorry, Harry.”  
  
A small, wistful smile appeared on Harry’s face. He’d been waiting to hear those words for months but had given up hope of the possibility. He hadn’t given thought to what he might do if the day ever came.  
  
“I can’t say that I forgive you right now,” Harry said. “But thank you.”  
  
Ron looked up at him with a shaky smile on his face.  
  
“Lavender and I aren’t together anymore. I broke up with her a few days ago.”  
  
“That’s good.” Harry moved to stand again, brushing off his pants. “Look, I have to go. But thank you—for apologizing.” He took a step away but stopped. “When she’s ready, you need to talk to Hermione, too. She deserves an explanation and an apology.”  
  
The only response Ron gave was a nod before he too stood up.  
  
“I’ll see you around, Ron.” 

Harry opened the door to the common room as quietly as possible. When he looked inside, a weight was lifted off his shoulders. Draco was sitting on the couch next to Hermione, Pansy on her other side, while Blaise and Theo sat by her feet. From what he could hear, Hermione was giving an animated retelling of how she had met Harry.  
  
“—the skinniest little thing you ever saw, I swear it!” she laughed.  
  
Draco was the first to see him and immediately leaped off the couch. His hands came up to Harry’s face, scanning him for any signs of discontent or uneasiness. Harry leaned into him and whispered, “I’m alright. I’ll tell you everything later, I promise.” Looking over his boyfriend’s head, he saw Hermione staring at him like she was trying to extract the conversation he’d had with Ron from his brain.  
  
Draco nodded and took his hand, leading him to the couch. But before he had the chance to sit down, his phone rang in Pansy’s hand.  
  
“It’s your coach,” she told him.  
  
_Well, shit,_ he cursed to himself. He quickly grabbed the phone and answered.  
  
“Hello?” 

***

Harry’s face was drawn in concern when he answered the phone. Draco knew from experience that whenever Coach called Harry, it was most likely for a last-minute practice, or that something had gone wrong. Draco didn’t want to let Harry go, couldn’t let him go without making sure he was okay. But after a moment of Harry listening to her talk, his face lit up, brighter than a Christmas tree.  
  
“You’re serious?” he asked excitedly. His eyes sparkled with elation.  
  
Coach spoke again, and Harry hung up the phone a second later with a giant grin splitting his lips.  
  
“What? What is it?” Hermione blurted.  
  
Harry’s grin widened impossibly. “The Beauxbatons football team got caught taking steroids in the locker rooms, the stupid bastards.” He looked at Theo with a wicked gleam in his eye, and Draco immediately put the pieces together. His heart jumped.  
  
“Theo, I hope you’re ready to work your ass off training because we have to get you in shape to go to the championship games. With Beauxbatons disqualified, we’re back in for the running.”  
  
Theo jumped up from the ground, shock painting every feature on his face. “You’re kidding, right?”  
  
“Not even a little bit.” Harry was practically vibrating with his excitement. Draco knew how much this meant to him, how crushed he’d been after Beauxbatons had beaten their team. This was a second chance. This was the team’s second chance. This was _Harry’s_ second chance. “The next game is Friday, so get ready to go to practice every day this week.”  
  
Draco laughed as Harry scooped him up and kissed him, smiling against his lips. He wrapped his arms around the bigger boy’s shoulders, holding on tightly when Harry spun him around in a circle. Harry pulled away, beaming at him with so much excitement in his green eyes.  
  
“You’re going to the championships,” Draco marveled, grinning proudly. He carded his fingers through his boyfriend’s dark hair.  
  
“We’re going to the championships!”  
  
Joy bubbled up in Draco’s chest as he kissed Harry fervently. He slid down Harry’s body until his feet returned to the ground, never once separating his lips from Harry’s. Harry’s hands cupped his face, running his fingers through Draco’s hair and shooting sparks down his spine. He pressed his chest against the bigger boy’s moving his hands around to Harry’s waist. He smiled into the kiss, delighting in the taste of Harry, in the glide of his mouth against his own.  
  
“Alright, get a room you two,” Pansy taunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I hope you liked it! Comment, comment, comment! I love them and they basically make my day. So, I hope you liked it!


	14. The Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After so much time, work, and struggle, he’d finally been able to accept them as part of him, a part of his past that he couldn’t just lock away and pretend didn’t exist. He didn’t like it, he didn’t like that this was what he came from, that this was the story he was given to tell. He didn’t like that there were times it crept back to him. He didn’t like that it still affected him. But he wouldn’t be afraid of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an important note, dearest readers. I won't be able to update this work for the next two to three weeks. I swear I'm not abandoning this work, believe me I've worked too hard to give up now. I'm in my school's musical, and for the next two weeks we'll be rehearsing nonstop, all hours, zero breaks. So, even if I did write anything in what little time I would have for sleep and homework, it would be complete trash. So please just stick with me, I'll update as soon as I can, but just be forewarned that it won't be for a couple of weeks.  
Anyway, I really hope that you guys enjoy this chapter, it's the longest one yet, hopefully that makes up for my absence.  
Also, trigger warning for the end of the chapter, when the big chunk of text in italics starts, there is a scene about child abuse, and some of the writing afterwards might be triggering for someone with an eating disorder. If you're not comfortable reading that, don't worry, I totally get it, I'm going to include a short summary in the end notes.

The sounds of bustling players permeated the air inside the locker rooms, buzzing with a concoction of excitement and anxiety. They’d been preparing for this football game all week, practicing every day, and running rigorous drills. Harry looked on as Fred and George got told off by Katie, shaking his head and grinning. Her glare was furious but her lips quirked into a smile at the corners while she swiftly braided back her brown hair. Luckily for the girls—and everyone else in either of the locker rooms—the stink bomb the twins had planted in the girl’s half of the room had been faulty.  
  
“Harry, come here a minute, will you?” Came Alicia’s voice from behind Katie, who had finished her rant and was tying off her hair. Harry made his way to her, giving Fred a playful shove out of his way, just hard enough to knock him into George.  
  
“What’s up?” he asked when he reached Alicia.  
  
“Go talk to Theo.” Alicia’s black eyes darted over to the boy. He was sitting on one of the benches lining the lockers, his head in his hands, fingers clenched in his brown hair. “He hasn’t moved from that spot in at least three minutes.”  
  
Harry recognized the tension in Theo’s body. He knew the paralyzing dread that was warring with the anticipation in his veins. The first game was always nerve-wracking, setting the tone for someone’s experience during the rest of the season. It didn’t help that this game would either make or break their way to the championships, and Theo had only been on the team for a few days.  
  
With a pat on Alicia’s shoulder, Harry made his way to the boy, nimbly dodging the shove Fred aimed his way.  
  
Theo didn’t move when Harry sat beside him on the bench. Harry knew he was trying to compose himself, trying to collect his fears behind a facade of confidence, attempting to prove that he was ready. The captain set a hand on Theo’s shoulder.  
  
The other boy looked up at him. Harry could see the turmoil roiling in his eyes.  
  
“Harry, I can’t… I can’t do this.” Theo shifted on the bench. He slouched even farther—like gravity pulled on him with a greater magnitude than the rest of the world—and leaned into Harry’s hand on his shoulder. “I _can’t…_ I’ve only been playing for a few days, and this is just too much—it’s a _championship game_, Harry. I’m not _ready_ for this. Can’t you just… I don’t know, get Angelina back? Find someone else—_anyone_ else?”  
  
“Theo,” Harry started, “You’re going to listen to me, and you’re going to listen very carefully.” He tightened his grip on the other boy’s shoulder. He tried to put as much force and authority into his words as possible without overwhelming Theo. He remembered all too well the suffocating fear that Theo was enduring. “You _can_ do this. Everyone gets nervous in their first game. Everyone gets scared. But you _earned_ this jersey, you _earned_ your place on the team.”  
  
“Aren’t you scared that we’ll lose this? This is our gateway to the championship cup. If we lose, we’re out. That’s it.”  
  
“Are you joking?” Harry laughed. “Of course I’m scared! I’m terrified, Theo!” With large eyes, the other boy looked up at him. The captain allowed himself the smallest of moments to feel the panic he kept at bay. He only allowed it to touch him before he locked it away again, working to convert it into stamina for the game. “But we’re all going to walk out on that field together—and win or lose—we’re going to kick Ilvermorny’s _ass_ trying.”  
  
While Harry spoke, the rest of their teammates gathered around them. Fred and George stood at Harry’s other side, Alicia and Katie sat next to Theo. He saw the eager gleam in the twins’ eyes, the apprehensive twitch in their fingers. Harry glimpsed the familiar bounce in Alicia’s leg, the patterns of her drumming fingers. Katie’s entire body was tensed, her grin was nearly feral—like she would tear apart the other team with her teeth if she needed to. Harry looked at each of them in the eye, garnering what courage he had to give to his teammates.  
  
“This is our second chance. We’re going to win.” When he looked back down at Theo, Harry saw the boy crossing his arms over his chest, looking down at his knees. The captain slightly shook his shoulder until Theo looked up at him. “And you’re going to help us.”  
  
The newest member of their team looked around at his teammates. Ever so slowly, the worry melted off his face, leaving the smallest of smiles behind. Lastly, he looked back at Harry, who felt a spark of pride in his chest. He’d given similar pep-talks to each and every one of his teammates and been on the receiving end of them more than once. The other boy’s eyes had lost the majority of their uncertainty, his shoulders lost most of their tension.  
  
Suddenly the door swung open to reveal Coach Hooch, her grey hair spikier than ever. Her piercing gaze immediately fell on Harry, then swept over each of the football players in the locker room. She looked at Theo, her face softening for the most minuscule of seconds before she turned to steel again.  
  
“On the field in three minutes, team,” she ordered. “Don’t you dare be late.” With that, she pivoted out the door. Harry could hear the crowds in the stands, cheering and shouting. His heart raced faster, his grin widened. _This_ was _his_ field. _His_ team. _His_ game.  
  
The fear that had plagued his mind had been successfully transformed into pure adrenaline, running through his veins and bouncing around in his stomach. Harry jumped up from the bench with a grin and reached out a hand to Theo.  
  
The newly minted football player hesitated—just for a moment—before he grasped Harry’s hand and hauled himself up. His jaw was set, his eyes alight with something Harry had seen many times over in all of his players.  
  
Pure, unadulterated _excitement._

The screams of the crowds echoed in Harry’s ears. His heart pounded in his chest. His body ached in the most pleasant way possible, flooded with adrenaline. Sweat coated his body, a sheen on his forehead. His eyes roved over the football field, tracking each and every player in sight, sensing those he couldn’t see. His legs were aching to race after the ball that was in Ilvermorny’s possession, rolling up and down the field between their players, but he knew he had to wait for the perfect opportunity. There were only ninety seconds left on the clock for the last half of the game, and he had to make them count.  
  
The score was tied with Ilvermorny, three-to-three. He spotted Theo chasing after one of Ilvermorny’s centerfielders, blocking her from being passed to. Each of Harry’s players was doing their best to cover one from Ilvermorny, cutting off the player in possession of the ball—number twenty-three, the captain of Ilvermorny’s team, Nicole. She was a ferocious kind of character, just the kind of person that her school’s team had needed for years.  
  
And then, twenty-three left herself open, just long enough for Harry to dash in and steal the ball. He dribbled up the field, eluding Ilvermorny’s players with rapid movements. But one player got too close too fast for Harry to evade, so he kicked the ball to Katie, who passed it to Fred. Harry sprinted to Ilvermorny’s goal, never letting the ball or the players leave his sight.  
  
Fred kicked the ball to Theo. It was a farther distance than Harry would have liked.  
  
For the instant before Theo had to ball, Nicole darted in front of him and stole it, hurrying in the direction of Hogwarts’ goal which was guarded by Alicia. Harry’s stomach plummeted. _No. No, no, no, no._ But Nicole didn’t get very far. Just as he was about to bolt into the fray to try and salvage the last thirty seconds of the game, Harry caught a glimpse of the determination in Theo’s eyes.  
  
He saw the near madness burning in his gaze, reflected in the way he almost fouled on Nicole—roughly but efficiently stealing the ball back with a complex maneuver Harry had only shown him once. It was messy and needed work, but he had the ball back.  
  
And he was in the perfect position to pass to Harry.  
  
The ball came racing towards him, and Harry let muscle memory take over. His mind went blank as he pivoted with the ball, feeling the seconds on the clock tick down in time with the beat of his hammering heart. He sensed each and every player behind him, he could feel them running after him. But he was already gone. Harry raced to the goal and without thinking he set up the shot—hoping, _praying,_ that his aim wouldn’t fail him.  
  
Harry put every ounce of force into the shot.  
  
The goalie dove for the flying ball. His gloved fingers grazed the ball, but he wasn’t close enough.  
  
The buzzer sounded just as the ball hit the net.  
  
It was in.  
  
It was _in._  
  
_I made it in._  
  
Harry could have exploded. Right at that moment, his heart combusted. His mind muddled every noise like he was underwater. He was in a sea of noise, crashing over him. He briefly registered Lee Jordan announcing their win, but he didn’t really hear the words. The sounds of cheering washed over him, but they couldn’t manage to sink in.  
  
Bodies crashed into him, nearly knocking Harry to the ground if not for the others behind him. His sight finally focused on the faces of his teammates, bright grins all around. His head cleared, and he finally allowed himself a grin. They were all yelling excitedly, with glittering sparkles in their eyes. His chest erupted with a radiant happiness, seeping into his bones, flowing through his veins, and rushing to his head. Harry wrapped his arms around the ones closest to him. A grin split his face, he had to close his eyes to wrap his mind around what had happened in the last few minutes.  
  
Elation bubbled up inside him as he heard the crowds cheering, and he saw the same emulated in Theo’s eyes. Their newest player looked shocked—like he hadn’t really expected to win. Like he hadn’t envisioned going farther into the championships.  
  
“_Harry!_”  
  
At the sound of his boyfriend’s—slightly hoarse—voice, Harry broke away from his team. Draco had run out onto the field with the brightest grin on his face, bundled up in warm clothes. Harry felt his heart racing even faster as he ran out to meet him in the middle, scooping up his boyfriend in his arms and swinging him around in a circle. The sound of Draco’s laughter made butterflies appear in Harry’s chest. (Even though his muscles ached, Harry couldn’t find it in himself to let go of Draco. Even though he was certain that he smelled like a barn animal in the peak of summer, he wanted to hold on to him. He wanted to share this moment with him, he wanted to share _everything_ with him.)  
  
The world seemed to freeze for a minute while Harry just _looked_ at his boyfriend. Taking in his gorgeous grey eyes—alight with the energy of the game, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the defined lines of his jaw, the wide smile on his pink lips, the flush in his cheeks that crept up to his ears, the growing crinkle in his pert nose…  
  
“I would totally kiss you right now,” Draco confessed, “but you smell _atrocious_, Harry.”  
  
A boisterous laugh burst from his mouth as Harry practically dropped his boyfriend into the grass, laughing harder at Draco’s pouting face.  
  
“Don’t you worry, Draco,” Fred interrupted, George beside him. Both were drenched in sweat but were practically glowing. “You can kiss your atrocious boyfriend all you like at the party in our common room tonight.”  
  
Harry whipped around to look at the Weasley twins, who were both sporting devilish, wicked grins on their freckled faces. “Party?”  
  
“Yes, Harry,” they said in eerie unison, “party.” 

***

The northern common room was brimming with students; even those from younger years were dancing to the upbeat music that seemed to come from every corner of the room. But Draco couldn’t be bothered with any of that.  
  
He was too busy carding his fingers through Harry’s soft, black hair. He was too occupied panting into Harry’s mouth, straddling his legs over Harry’s on the soft, worn couch. Draco couldn’t care less that they were in public, the way his boyfriend’s tongue swept lazily against his own made him dizzy, unable to concentrate on anything but the sensations of being so close to Harry and yet wanting to be so much closer. He could hardly focus on the feel of Harry’s hands gripping his hips, let alone everyone else in the room.  
  
Watching Harry on the field, watching him _move_—it never failed to amaze Draco. And watching him _win_ was even better. After the game ended, Draco watched Harry say a few quick words to the other team’s captain before hurrying off to the showers, all the while getting shoved around by his teammates, laughter echoing behind them. Draco had watched him go with pride flowering in his chest, with utmost certainty that Harry would hurry back to him.  
  
And oh, he did…  
  
Harry moved his lips from Draco’s, trailing across his cheek, mouthing at his jaw, and pulling his ear between his teeth. Shivers raced down Draco’s spine, goosebumps raised on his skin. He tried to muffle the guttural moan that slipped past his lips, but the blaring music made it impossible to hear. Harry moved down the pale column of Draco’s neck, alternating between soft kisses and sharp nips—the combination driving Draco senseless. His broad hands moved from the smaller boy’s hips to his thighs, gradually sliding up the fabric of his jeans, making him shiver in pleasure. Draco’s breaths were short and fast. His pulse beat against his ribs almost painfully.  
  
When Harry’s lips reached the junction of his neck and shoulder, he tightened his fingers in the taller boy’s hair, tugging Harry’s head back to face him. His green eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, his brow furrowed. His boyfriend’s warm, peppermint breath fanned over his face, heavy and irregular in its rhythm. Warmth flowed and pooled low in Draco’s stomach at the sight of him like this, with his jaw dropped and his hair messier than usual from Draco’s own hands. He leaned forward, pressing his chest firmly against the bigger boy’s, and took Harry’s bottom lip between his teeth, brushing his tongue over the other boy’s and swallowing the husky groan that escaped his boyfriend.  
  
“Alright, look,” came Fred’s voice over the music from behind Draco, his words slightly slurred. Startled, Draco pulled away and glared over his shoulder at the Weasley boy. “I know what I said earlier, but there are good people here who would rather not see your tongue down Harry’s throat, Draco.”  
  
Fred plopped onto the couch beside them with a brown translucent bottle in his hands. George wasn’t far behind, sitting on their other side.  
  
“Hermione’s looking for you, Harry,” George said. He caught sight of the scowl Draco was aiming his way and scooted down the couch a few inches. “She seemed kind of upset.”  
  
Where he hadn’t really seemed to be paying attention before, Harry jolted upright. Draco quickly got the message and scrambled off of his boyfriend’s lap. His knees ached from being sat in the same position for so long, but the concerned look on Harry’s face and the uneasy feeling in his chest made him ignore it.  
  
“Where is she?” Harry asked. He linked his fingers through Draco’s.  
  
“Sitting on the stairs to the girls’ dormitories,” the twins said together.  
  
Without hesitation, Harry set off towards the stairs, Draco trailing after him. Weaving their way through the throng of students, they made for the stairs. Draco could see Harry’s eyes roving over each and every face, looking for his best friend. But they didn’t catch a glimpse of Hermione until they reached the stairs.  
  
She was sitting on the middle step against the wall with her knees to her chest, her arms were wrapped around her legs. Her forehead was laid against her knees and her curly, dark brown hair was fanned over her back and down her arms. Draco could see her shoulders quivering, but the music was too loud to hear any tell-tale sounds of her crying.  
  
His heart twisted at the sight of her. Draco hadn’t seen her as anything but strong and composed. When Harry had described her as heartbroken a few months before, he hadn’t even been able to imagine it.  
  
Harry sat down on the stair below her. “Hermione, love?” He swept her hair away from her forehead. “Hey, what’s wrong?”  
  
She lifted her face from her knees, and the sight of her puffy red eyes forced Draco to sit down. She curled herself tighter on the stair, glancing at Draco before fixing on Harry. Draco worried that she would send him away, but she seemed to deem him trustworthy. A flower of pride bloomed in his chest.  
  
“Harry, is there something wrong with me?”  
  
The taller boy looked confused. His brows drew together. “What are you on about, ‘Mione?” He raised his hand to press against her forehead like he was checking for a temperature. She swatted his hand away.  
  
“No, I mean,” she paused, swallowing hard, “Ron came to talk to me, just a few minutes ago. I could barely look at him, Harry. I just kept picturing him with Lavender, and thinking about him ignoring us and… And I… Am I a horrible person for not wanting everything to just go back to how it was before?”  
  
(Draco couldn’t pinpoint what it was—but Hermione looked lost. Perhaps it was her eyes, lowered and swollen. Or maybe it was the set of her trembling mouth, it was like she was trying to keep her sobs inside. Or maybe it was something he couldn’t see. Something was hidden inside her heart. A fracture, a hole that she was struggling to fill, a tear that she didn’t have the needle to sew back together. Draco knew the pain of losing a friend, but he was certain that whatever Hermione was feeling, whatever plagued her heart—it was worse than anything Draco might’ve compared it to. After all, it is impossible to know exactly what someone is feeling unless you are that person. And even then, it can be hard to tell)  
  
“Hermione, there’s nothing wrong with you. There could never be anything wrong with you, love. I don’t want things to go back to how they were, either.” Harry took her hands in his. Tentatively, Draco reached his own hand forward and placed it on top of hers. He hadn’t seen her like this before, but he wanted to do what he could to help. Hermione wasn’t just Harry’s friend, she wasn’t just the friend of his boyfriend. No, she was Draco’s friend, too.  
  
Hermione turned a shaky smile in the blond boy’s direction. Draco suddenly felt like less of an intruder. He felt like he might’ve actually been helping her, instead of just observing. She looked back at Harry when he began to speak again. Suspicion passed over his face, shadowing his eyes and tensing his jaw.  
  
“What did Ron say to you?”  
  
“He said he was sorry.”  
  
“And? Come on, Hermione. You and I both know that’s not all. What did he say to you?”  
  
Hermione pressed her lips together but Draco could still see them trembling. She took a shaky breath, barely audible over the thundering music echoing off the walls.  
  
“He saw me dancing with Blaise, and… Ron said that I was being stupid, for thinking that Blaise would like me.”  
  
The change in Harry’s face was immediate. His jaw clenched so tightly it was a surprise to not hear his teeth cracking. He looked menacing—_dangerous._ Draco knew exactly what thoughts were running through his boyfriend’s head, but he couldn’t decide whether to try and stop him or help him throttle the red-headed idiot. _That boy just can’t take a break, can he? Is he incapable of basic human kindness?_  
  
When he spoke, Harry’s voice was thick and low. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He released both Hermione and Draco’s hands and moved to stand. Every muscle in his body was stiffened, his fists were clenched. He looked ready for a fight.  
  
“Harry, please, just—”  
  
“Hermione, I _can’t_ just let him say—”  
  
“Do you think that I just let him say those things to me?” Hermione looked slightly offended, enough to make Harry stop. “I told him to screw off! Harry, I’m not defenseless. So please, _please_, don’t go and rough him up. I really just—I just needed a hug from my best friend.”  
  
Draco watched as Harry completely melted. Every ounce of tension in his body thawed. He practically fell back onto the stairs and gently pulled Hermione to his body. She curled into him, closing her eyes and burying her face in his chest. Over her head, Harry looked at Draco. He smiled softly and reached out one of his hands to the smaller boy, beckoning him to them. Draco felt his heart fluttering as he took his boyfriend’s hand.  
  
Immediately, he was tugged toward them.  
  
Hermione opened her eyes and smiled. She extracted herself from Harry and did something Draco never thought would happen.  
  
She threw her arms around Draco’s neck—reaching across Harry to get there, but she just tugged him closer. Draco was sure that the look on his face was comical gold. He felt warmth blooming in his chest, a different sort than when Harry touched him. Draco cautiously wrapped his hands around Hermione’s small frame, looking at Harry over her hair with wide eyes.  
  
There was a soft smile on his face like he’d been waiting for this moment to happen. Perhaps the circumstances were less than ideal, but Draco cherished it anyway.  
  
“You’re more help than you think,” Hermione whispered to him. Draco felt pressure building behind his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to make him cry. He just held her tighter.  
  
After a moment, she pulled away. Her eyes had regained some of the light that he was familiar with. Draco let his hands fall back down to his lap, but he no longer felt useless. He felt Harry grasp his fingers.  
  
“Okay,” Hermione said, standing up. “I’m going to go clean my face. Harry, I heard a rumor that Fred and George may or may not have snuck in a few bottles of Baileys in celebration of their magnificent captain.” She looked at him with a smile that was almost a smirk. “Go have fun, I’ll be down in a few.”  
  
With a pat on Harry’s shoulder, she turned and walked up the stairs.  
  
After a beat, Harry stood, bringing Draco with him. A crooked grin spread on the smaller boy’s face at the sight of his boyfriend’s smirk.  
  
“I need a drink.” 

The room was spinning. Or maybe it was Draco. He couldn’t really tell. He knew he was a lightweight, so he hadn’t drunk nearly as much as Harry—they were both just slightly past the tipsy stage. The music sounded fuzzy, the bodies dancing around them were just slightly blurry. But that might’ve just been his lack of focus. Or caring.  
  
Draco swayed his hips to the beat of the music with Harry behind him, his broad hands on the smaller boy’s hips. A carefree grin spread across his face as Harry dragged his lips up from his neck to his ear. Giggles erupted from his mouth, because, goddammit, his breath _tickled._  
  
He felt more than heard Harry’s laughter. “Someone’s a little drunk.”  
  
Draco turned to face his boyfriend. “Am not!”  
  
Even he heard the slowness of his words, felt the drain of concentration it took to even get the simplest two words out. Harry laughed harder, kissing his forehead and bringing Draco’s body closer to his own.  
  
“Do you wanna stay tonight?” Harry whispered in his ear. It took Draco a moment to register the words. And promptly gasp at the first conclusion his addled mind jumped to.  
  
“_Harry Potter!_”  
  
“Draco! That’s not what I meant,” Harry snorted. “I just meant sleeping, you dirty-minded scoundrel.”  
  
“Okay, rude.”  
  
“Well?”  
  
“I want an apology. Then I’ll think about it.”  
  
“Oh, come on, kitten, you know I didn’t mean it.”  
  
“Not even close.”  
  
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. You’re lucky I love you, drunk idiot and all.”  
  
“Just take me to bed, you simpleton, my feet are about to fall off.”  
  
“Since you asked so nicely.”  
  
On the way to the stairs, Draco saw Hermione—fresh-faced and glowing as usual—laughing with Blaise. A smile spread across his lips and he tucked himself into Harry’s side, trying his best not to trip over his own feet. He could practically feel Harry’s warm sheets under his fingers already.

***

_The door to the cupboard was flung open. Icy fear flooded the boy’s veins as a meaty hand reached in and seized him by his messy black hair, yanking him out of the cupboard and into the blinding light of the hallway. The boy didn’t even bother to scream. He’d given up screaming years ago.  
  
The man who had pulled him out was looking at the boy with such loathing, his round face was red with it. The boy didn’t even know what he had done wrong this time, only that it had been enough to earn him three hours of being locked in the cupboard under the stairs while the man occasionally shouted at him. He hadn’t thought that whatever he’d done would have been bad enough for what was coming next.  
  
“No, please!” the boy pleaded, on his knees before the man, watching his large hands go for the straining belt around his pants, undoing the buckle. “Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”  
  
“Shut it, boy.” The man growled. “This is your fault. I wouldn’t have to do this if you had just listened to me.” He freed his belt from the loops in his pants, coiling it around his hand. The boy knew what would be demanded of him next. His hands trembled, he bent down farther onto the floor, trying to make himself smaller—as if he could become invisible.  
  
“Off with the shirt. Now,” the man ordered, his voice booming.  
  
From behind the man, a woman’s voice begged, “Really, Vernon, not this again. It’s too much of a hassle to clean up after. The least you could do is—”  
  
“Shut it, Petunia.”  
  
The woman went silent, walking back through the door to the kitchen with a huff. The man repeated his previous order, and the boy knew that if he didn’t obey, he would only make it worse on himself. So, with quivering hands, he pulled his shirt over his head. He wrapped his arms around his skinny frame, keeping his eyes locked on the carpeted floor.  
  
“Turn around.”  
  
The boy felt tears running down his face, felt the sobs building up in his throat. He knew that making sounds only worsened his punishment, but he couldn’t keep them at bay. As the boy shifted on the floor to face away from the man, a whimper escaped his mouth.  
  
He heard it before he felt it. Pain lanced across his back, a fiery burning sensation that never failed to make him scream in agony. Black spots danced across his vision, sobs wracked his small chest, he felt his skin splitting with every strike—_  
  
“Harry!”  
  
“_Harry!_”  
  
Harry’s eyes shot open, shooting upright on his mattress. He could hardly see anything, his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness of the room. His breathing was harsh and erratic, his head spinning. His heart was beating painfully against his ribs, the horror of the dream making his stomach turn and nausea rise up in his throat.  
  
“Harry—” Draco said from beside him, his pale hand reaching out for Harry’s bare shoulder. But Harry knew what was coming. He felt the bile rising in his throat, nausea completely overwhelming him.  
  
He threw the blankets off of him and ran like hell to the bathroom, nearly tripping over Blaise and Theo’s sleeping bodies on the floor. He threw open the door, reaching the toilet just in time to disgorge the contents of his stomach. He clutched the sides of the toilet, his head pounding and his throat burning. Cold sweat coated his forehead, a droplet running down his temple.  
  
Just as his stomach paused in its upheaval, there was a knock on the open bathroom door.  
  
“Harry, baby, are you okay?” Draco’s voice was quiet as he stepped into the bathroom. “Do you want me to get you water, or—or some aspirin, anything?”  
  
The boy on the tile floor didn’t get the chance to respond. His stomach muscles convulsed, and his head pounded painfully as his stomach continued its nearly violent revolt. His abdomen ached. The skin on his back felt sore with the stain of his dream.  
  
Distantly, Harry heard Draco’s footsteps against the tile as he strode out of the bathroom. Emotions warred within Harry at the thought of Draco leaving him—fear, sorrow, sympathy—but he didn’t have long to worry about it. Coughing, Harry finally managed to stop vomiting just as he heard Draco walk back in.  
  
Harry didn’t even have the energy to lift his head to look at the other boy, instead choosing to set his forehead against his arm. His throat was raw, his breathing ragged and difficult. In his peripheral vision, he saw Draco kneel down beside him, setting a tall glass of water on the tile floor. He reached a pale hand over Harry and pulled the lever on the toilet.  
  
“Here, look at me,” Draco whispered. His fingers gently grasped at Harry’s chin and pulled him to face him. He held a damp washcloth in his other hand and began gently dabbing at Harry’s mouth.  
  
Embarrassment crept up Harry’s neck. His skin flushed, and though the color of his skin was just dark enough to hide it, he still felt the blood rushing to his face and neck. But Draco seemed to sense this and tightened his fingers on Harry’s jaw, preventing him from pulling away. His grey eyes flashed, warning the other boy not to fight him on this.  
  
When he finished wiping at Harry’s face, Draco handed him the glass of water he’d set down and simply said, “Rinse.” With shaky hands, Harry took it from him and rinsed his mouth, feeling the shadow of his dream gradually leave him.  
  
Draco handed him another glass he hadn’t seen before after he finished, which he guzzled without stopping. He heard Draco sigh through his nose, but he couldn’t bring himself to take smaller sips as he should have. The water settled his stomach, if only by a fraction.  
  
Draco gripped his elbows and helped him stand. Every muscle in his body protested the movements, a groan rumbling in the back of his throat, irritating it further. Blood rushed to his head. Black spots danced across his vision.  
  
Basically, it sucked.  
  
Focusing on taking deep even breaths, Harry sat down on the bed. He leaned his back against the wall, watching as Draco crawled onto the mattress and sat across from him. His grey eyes were soft and assessing. He looked at him the way a doctor would look at a young patient.  
  
“You were mumbling in your sleep,” he whispered. His voice was almost too loud for the silence. The only other sounds in the room were the snores coming from the floor, probably Theo. “You were moving around a lot, too.” There were a good six inches between them, and it felt like too much and not enough space at the same time. Harry closed his eyes, words of others crowding his head, telling him what to do.  
  
_Just breathe, Harry. Breathe in, hold it for a few seconds, and exhale slowly.  
  
Try counting backward from twenty. It’ll help focus your mind.  
  
Name things you can see, hear, smell, touch, and taste. This will ground you, remind you that you’re not back there.  
  
Find someone you trust that you can talk to. Getting it out will help you more than keeping it in, I promise._  
  
When he opened his eyes, Harry felt more settled inside. His stomach had stopped churning. His head felt clearer. While the nightmare was still prevalent in his mind, he felt less affected by it. He flicked his gaze up to Draco, who was looking at him with concern swirling in his eyes.  
  
“Harry, sweetheart, can you… Can I ask what your nightmare was about?”  
  
Harry knew full well that Draco had seen the expanse of scars on his back. He knew that his boyfriend had questions about where they came from, how he’d gotten them. Why he hadn’t explained them sooner. It had been slowly eating at him, keeping what was probably the biggest part of his past from the boy he loved. But he just hadn’t been ready.  
  
He was ready now.  
  
Reaching a hand to twine his fingers with Draco’s, Harry tried to find the right words to begin.  
  
“You know that after my parents died, I was sent to my aunt and uncle.”  
  
Draco nodded. His face fell like he already knew where Harry was going with this. His pale fingers tightened on Harry’s, encouraging him to go on.  
  
“They—um… They didn’t like me very much, to say the least. Vernon didn’t like me _at all._ I was more like his punching bag than a nephew, and Petunia couldn’t have cared less if not for the mess he left behind.”  
  
As the smaller boy understood the implications, Harry saw tears gathering in Draco’s eyes. His face collapsed, his other hand raised to his mouth. Harry’s gut twisted. The words tasted like poison coming from his mouth, he couldn’t imagine how it felt to hear them. To find out something so dark about someone you loved.  
  
“Is that how… Tell me that’s not how—Your _back,_ Harry—” Draco’s sentences cut off at Harry’s nodding. Tears started flowing from his shattered eyes. He knew the scars that laced his skin weren’t pretty to look at, but he also knew that they could have been much, _much_ worse.  
  
After so much time, work, and struggle, he’d finally been able to accept them as part of him, a part of his past that he couldn’t just lock away and pretend didn’t exist. He didn’t like it, he didn’t like that this was what he came from, that this was the story he was given to tell. He didn’t like that there were times it crept back to him. He didn’t like that it still affected him. But he wouldn’t be afraid of it.  
  
“Whenever I did something Vernon didn’t like, he would lock me in the cupboard under the stairs for a few hours. That was basically where I lived. He’d shout at me and hit me. But when he was really angry…” Harry paused, looking down at Draco’s fingers tangled with his own. He took a deep breath. “When he was really angry he’d make me take off my shirt, and he’d hit me with his belt.”  
  
“Harry, I—” Draco choked. Harry looked back up at him. His cheeks were streaked with tears. His eyes were tinged red. “I can’t even imagine… I—” He stopped. Draco crawled across the small space between them and wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck. The way he touched Harry was so light and cautious—like Draco was afraid that he might shatter in his hands. It brought tears to Harry’s eyes because he was _loved._  
  
Draco _loved_ him enough to be gentle with him, enough to give him space if he needed it. So Harry brought his smaller boyfriend closer to his body, moving so their heads were on Harry’s pillows, facing each other. Draco slowly brought his hands to Harry’s face, softly tracing his skin. His fingers were as chilled as always, and Harry kissed his fingertips as they passed over his lips.  
  
A charged sort of silence fell over them. He practically felt the questions brewing under Draco’s skin, begging to be released. Harry tried to convey in his gaze that it was okay for him to ask his questions, to get them out of the way now.  
  
“Are you… Have you talked to anyone else about this?” Draco asked.  
  
“When Sirius got custody of me,” Harry answered, “he practically dragged me to a therapy appointment twice a week, or whenever he could when I was home from school. Eventually, I realized that they were actually helping me—but it was hard, talking about everything I’d spent years hiding.” He took a deep breath, savoring the feel of a weight lifting off his chest. “The nightmares still get to me sometimes.”  
  
Cold lips press against his forehead. Draco brings his body closer, tucking Harry’s head under his bony chin. Coolness seeps into Harry’s bare skin as he buries his face deeper into Draco’s chest. Shivers run down his spine as Draco begins combing his fingers through his hair, scratching against his scalp.  
  
“Do Ron and Hermione know?” Draco whispered into his hair.  
  
Harry burrowed further into his boyfriend’s soft, worn shirt, curling his arms closer around him. “I told Hermione when we were twelve. I’d had a panic attack and she found me in the closet I’d hidden in. I told her everything. I don’t think she left my side that entire week.” Harry paused, fisting his hand in the smaller boy’s shirt. “Ron’s never known. None of the Weasley’s do.”  
  
He felt Draco kiss his temple, then his hair, and his forehead. His chilled fingers continued to comb through his hair. The exhaustion of the day crept up on him, drowsiness making him yawn.  
  
“I love you, Harry,” Draco murmured. “You have no idea how in love with you I am. I’m here for you. I want to know everything there is to know, but it’s okay if you need time. I’ll wait.”  
  
The pressure behind Harry’s eyes built up until he couldn’t hold it in. Tears fell down his face, leaving wet spots on Draco’s shirt.  
  
“I am so in love with you, Draco. I love you so much it hurts—so much that there isn’t enough room in my entire body to contain all of it.” 

***

Harry had rolled over in his sleep. Draco had been staring at the scars on his back for at least half an hour. His chest felt collapsed, his lungs felt punctured, he couldn’t breathe. Imagining the horror that Harry had been forced through for thirteen years of his life—he had to bite back his whimpering sobs to keep Harry from waking.  
  
They’d stayed up for at least an hour, whispering to each other. Draco had listened to each and every word Harry said, listened to each story and fact that made him want to break down in tears just envisioning it. The insides of his cheeks were raw from biting them. Harry had dozed off in the middle of a sentence, and Draco hadn’t had the heart to wake him.  
  
_This was what Hermione meant. This is why Harry hadn’t fallen asleep on that plane—nightmares. So many things, so many—_  
  
Draco hesitantly lifted his hands to the expanse of Harry’s back. The instant his fingers touched the scar tissue, another sob wracked his chest. He bit his lip so roughly he tasted blood. The scars were raised and rigid, slightly bumpy under his touch. And there were _so many._ He traced the line of each and every scar with his fingers, then with his lips. He pressed kisses to every inch of skin on Harry’s back, every scar, small or otherwise.  
  
There was no part of Harry that was ugly, no part of him that Draco didn’t love with every fiber in his body. It was a miracle, some work of heaven, that a person so kind as Harry had emerged from the darkness of this past. Draco would need time—time to come to terms with everything he had learned.  
  
But for now, he just wrapped his body around Harry’s slumbering frame, holding tight to him, burying his face in the crook of his neck.  
  
And he was never going to let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Harry has a sort of flashback dream of his Uncle Vernon beating him, and he wakes up sick and has to run to the bathroom before, well, you know. After that, Draco cleans him up, and Harry tells him about how he got his scars and he was abused as a child, until Sirius got custody of him and took him to therapy and helped him through the brunt of it. Then there's some kind of sad fluffy stuff. 
> 
> Okay so before you start yelling at me about my horribly inaccurate trauma dream: Believe me, I know that real trauma dreams are not like this. I know that they're not just memories. But in my defense, I didn't really have the time to write an elaborate one, and I just kind of wanted to get my point across. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter!! I really hope it will satisfy you for the few weeks I won't be able to update. Comments are always amazing!!


	15. In Two Hours, Early

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry abandoned the toiletries he’d been packing and walked over to where Draco stood by his bed. He could practically feel the agitation oozing off of the smaller boy as he gently hugged him from behind, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist and hunching over to set his chin on his shoulder. The fabric of his pull-over sweater was soft against his hands. He felt Draco freeze, then all the tension seemed to melt from his body. His arms dropped to his sides and his head came back to rest on Harry’s shoulder.   
“Does it make me an awful person,” Draco asked, “if I’m already dreading having to see my father?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back! Sorry it was a week longer than expected, my dearest readers. Thank you all for understanding why I couldn't write or post anything for a while!  
On a separate note, I'm going to start posting every _other_ Saturday, because now I have other after-school activities that I can't miss, and I would rather not have to keep going on hiatus. I might switch back, if I do I'll let all of you know.  
I hope you all enjoy this chapter!!

Light from the rising sun filtered through the curtains surrounding Harry’s bed, casting a red-hued haze over Draco’s vision. The smaller boy had been awake for nearly an hour, just listening to the sound of Harry’s breathing and studying the texture of the curtains. They had shifted sometime after Draco had fallen asleep. The pale, bare skin of his back was pressed into the warmth of Harry’s chest, with his boyfriend’s arms enveloping him, keeping him close. Draco had tossed away his shirt sometime in the night, Harry had been more than enough to keep him warm. Their legs had tangled together underneath the worn sheets. With his head tucked under Harry’s chin, Draco curled perfectly against Harry’s body.  
  
Memories from the previous night swirled in Draco’s thoughts. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Harry had endured, what he’d been subjected to in place of a childhood. But through the hours of sleeplessness, Draco had come to realize that the scars on his back didn’t only exist as painful memories. They were reminders that he had come through. Harry had survived and he’d found a way to live again. He’d fought for years to be the person he’d become. The boy that he’d fallen completely in love with.  
  
What he’d learned, the insights he’d gained, the twisting pain and grief he’d felt for Harry—it all made his heart drop to his stomach. It made him feel sick just thinking about it, it made the pressure build behind his eyes until they glistened with held-back tears.  
  
But nothing Draco had been told could have made him love Harry any less. No, Draco had made a promise to himself—he would be there for Harry. (He didn’t have the exact words to explain what he felt in his head. Or in his heart, for that matter. It was like the parts of Harry that had confused him before, suddenly made sense. Harry hadn’t changed. He hadn’t deceived Draco or tricked him into thinking he was someone he wasn’t. It was… another piece of the puzzle that was Harry Potter. Draco would always wish that those years of abuse and torment had never happened—but he couldn’t change that. He could only offer Harry his heart, and stay by his side through the nightmares)  
  
“You’re thinking too hard,” Harry muttered in a sleep-deepened voice, “I can feel it.” The vibrations of his voice sent a pleasant tingle down Draco’s spine.  
  
“Sorry, just let me drop a few IQ points and get on your level.”  
  
“Ouch.” The arms around Draco’s waist tightened. “You wound me, kitten.”  
  
A gentle smile graced Draco’s lips, a hum resounded in the back of his throat as a response. Stretching his stiff limbs, he swiftly turned over himself to face the other boy. Harry’s raven hair was ruffled against his pillow, his green eyes heavy-lidded with the remnants of sleep, the corners of his lips were upturned in the beginnings of a tired smile. His fingers began tracing the lines of Draco’s ribs, caressing the divot of his spine, stroking up and down the skin on his chest and stomach. Every touch sent a burst of warmth through Draco, flowing through his veins.  
  
Looking at Harry, Draco ran his hands up the other boy’s deliciously brown chest, marveling at the smoothness of his skin. One hand came to rest against his face while the other tangled in his hair, lightly scratching and massaging his scalp. He bumped his nose against Harry’s and threw his leg over his hip, drawing his body closer to the taller boy’s. Their stomachs pressed together and Harry’s arms circled closer around Draco’s waist and hips. The tips of his fingers rested just above the waistband of his sweatpants—well, more accurately, Harry’s sweatpants that Draco had borrowed. The smaller boy leaned up to press his forehead against Harry’s. He tried to absorb the warmth that exuded from him, the same warmth that had filled his bones every time he was near his boyfriend. It wrapped around him like a blanket, comforting and… safe.  
  
“It’s okay,” Draco murmured back, tugging ever so slightly on Harry’s hair. “I have more than enough brains for both of us.”  
  
“Wow, thanks. That makes me feel _so_ much better.”  
  
“Do you want a kiss to make you feel better?”  
  
“Not with _your_ nasty morning breath.”  
  
A nearly undignified squeak came from Draco’s lips, barely quiet enough to not wake the others in the room. “I do _not_ have morning breath, you cretin!”  
  
Quiet laughter shook Harry’s chest as he leaned closer to place a soft kiss to the corner of Draco’s mouth. A second kiss was pressed against his cheekbone, a third to his nose before Harry leaned his forehead against the smaller boy’s. A shiver raced down Draco’s spine. The indignation melted away in favor of focusing on the feeling of Harry’s calloused fingers drawing circles and random shapes on his skin. The leg that Draco had thrown over Harry tightened, bringing him impossibly closer to Harry’s body. Sighing through his nose, Draco dragged a finger down the line of his boyfriend’s nose, down to his lips.  
  
“It’s too early to be awake on a Saturday,” Draco whispered, tracing the shape of Harry’s mouth while his other hand was still massaging his head. “So why are you up?”  
  
Harry kissed his fingertips as they passed over his lips. He removed his hand from Draco’s hip and intertwined his fingers with those of Draco’s that had been touching his face. He kissed the smaller boy’s white knuckles, a small smile spreading on Draco’s lips.  
  
“I don’t usually sleep very well after nightmares.” Harry looked at him through his lashes. Draco squeezed his hand, feeling his heart squeeze at the same time. His stomach clenched, his brows drew together. “I just… couldn’t sleep.”  
  
Draco nodded. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth. “Okay, well, do you want—”  
  
“Ugh,” came a grunt from the ground, “who the _hell_ turned on the sun?”  
  
Blaise’s voice came out rough and deeper than usual, his words laced thickly with a whining tone. Draco heard him shuffling around on the floor on the other side of the curtains, groaning with each movement. Pressing a finger against Harry’s lips to keep him quiet, Draco stopped talking. A hungover Blaise was _not_ one he wanted to deal with. Once the boy found someone to complain to, they were roped into taking care of him until he felt better. And while Draco loved his friend dearly, he had no intention of leaving this bed to take care of him.  
  
There was a thump on the other side of the curtains. Then a groan. One that sounded distinctly like Theo.  
  
“_Ow._ Screw off, you _ass._”  
  
“Come on, we should go find Pansy,” Blaise countered.  
  
“I’m sure she’s fine.”  
  
Another thudding sound. Draco saw the laughter in Harry’s eyes, and it took everything in him to keep his own chuckles inside.  
  
“Either you both shut up, or find somewhere else to be awake,” came Seamus’ exasperated voice. His accent became thicker with sleep. _Who all is in here?_ Draco wondered. “It’s too damn early and we’re all too damn hungover to go looking for anyone.”  
  
A grin spread on Harry’s lips under Draco’s fingers. His eyes shone with silent laughter, his head shook at how ridiculous his friends were. Draco shared the same sentiment, biting his lip to keep the snickering laughter quiet.  
  
After a few minutes of silence, Draco could hear the evened out breathing of the others in the room, a few snores every now and then. The other boys had fallen back asleep. Draco looked back up at Harry, only to see his eyelids heavy and drooping. He could feel his own head throbbing with how little sleep he had gotten the night before.  
  
So Draco cuddled as close as he possibly could into Harry’s body, letting his breath and his heartbeat fall into sync with his boyfriend’s. Closing his eyes, Draco settled down to sleep for as long as he could. 

***

Something was buzzing against Harry’s thigh. Drawing his brows together at the annoyance, he slowly peeled open his eyes to be met with Draco’s face, not an inch from his own. His boyfriend looked peaceful as he slept—like all the stress had melted from his features. The soft morning light made his skin glow. They hadn’t been asleep for very long if the light was anything to go by.  
  
The buzzing persisted, drawing Harry’s attention away. It felt like a phone, and Harry was certain it was coming from the pocket of Draco’s borrowed sweatpants. The drawstring on said pants was pulled almost all the way out and tied tightly to keep them up on Draco’s smaller hips. The sight made Harry smile. Draco had a tendency to steal his clothes and Harry had no qualms about it when he looked so adorable in them, practically drowning in the swell of fabrics that were much too big for his smaller frame.  
  
Finally, he managed to dig the cell phone out of Draco’s pocket without dislodging him from his clinging position, Harry looked at the caller ID. He took a moment trying to register what he was seeing. _Shit,_ he thought. His stomach dropped, he felt his heart twist.  
  
“Dray,” Harry whispered, shaking the boy awake. “Dray, baby, wake up.”  
  
Harry held the phone like a ticking bomb, still buzzing, as Draco’s eyes fluttered open and a groggy sounding groan came from the back of his throat. The smaller boy finally managed to open his eyes, scowling at Harry before he caught sight of the caller ID on his phone. His eyes widened almost comically, nearly popping out of his head.  
  
Immediately, the sleep that had riddled his body dissipated. Faster than lightning, Draco shot up and snatched the phone from Harry’s hands, staring at it for a moment before answering.  
  
“Father?”  
  
Harry watched intently as Draco’s face hardened. He could hear a voice on the other end of the phone, but couldn’t make out the words that were being said. Clearly, Draco didn’t like them very much.  
  
“But I was supposed to have a few more days—”  
  
His father cut him off. Harry could hear the sharp tone the man used. Indignation bubbled in his gut, heating his blood. It was quickly vanquished when Harry caught sight of the defeated expression on Draco’s face. A flooding concern took its place.  
  
“Yes, of course, Father.”  
  
Taking the phone from his ear, Draco hung up. His hand fell to his lap. He seemed… numb. Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position, reaching out for him but giving him plenty of time to pull away. Draco allowed himself to be pulled against Harry’s chest, halfway in his lap.  
  
“You alright, kitten?” Harry asked into his hair, rubbing his hand up and down his boyfriend’s arm. He waited, breathing in the smell of his lemon shampoo. When there was no response, he decided to go for an easier question. “What did your father call for?”  
  
He felt Draco take a deep breath before he answered, “You know how I told you my mum’s birthday is on Tuesday?”  
  
“Yeah, of course.”  
  
Draco had told him a few days ago that his mother’s birthday would be on the twenty-fourth of this month—this upcoming Tuesday—and that his parents would be coming the day beforehand to take him out of school for a few days. Draco had told him about the party that was sure to occur, filled with the relatives his parents were on good terms with and his parents’ friends—none of which he was too fond of or excited to see. Draco had explained how it was draining just to be in their presence, constantly having to pretend to be the boy they expected.  
  
“Well, my father has decided that it would be best if he took me out of school a few days earlier than planned.” Draco laid his head on Harry’s shoulder. The smaller boy shifted so he was fully in Harry’s lap, burrowing into him. “Like, today, early. In two hours, early.”  
  
Harry felt anger burning in his chest, rising up to form hateful, scornful words. But he knew that that wasn’t what Draco needed right now. So he smothered the feeling before it could snowball into something worse.  
  
Pulling his boyfriend down with him, Harry laid back down on his pillows with Draco lying on top of him. He started rubbing circles into the skin of his back while the smaller boy wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and set his chin on Harry’s chest to look at him.  
  
“I was supposed to have at least two more days to… I don’t know, mentally prepare, you know?” Draco’s voice was troubled and quiet. His eyes were downcast. Harry nodded at him.  
  
“I get it, love, I do.” Harry carded his fingers through his pale blond hair, rubbing lightly against his head. “It wasn’t fair of your father to spring this on you. But if anything, at least you get to see your mum a few days early.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess so.”  
  
A comfortable silence fell between them. Draco moved his head so his ear was against Harry’s chest like he was listening to his heartbeat. Harry drew lines between the sparse freckles on his boyfriend’s shoulders and back, his other hand still in his blond hair. Harry knew that they should be getting to Draco’s dormitory so he could pack, but… he didn’t want to let him go. He’d planned on spending every spare moment with Draco before he left, but now those moments were cut short.  
  
In the end, logic won out. “Come on,” Harry said gently, sitting back up with Draco reluctantly following, “we need to get you packed.” 

After carefully picking their way through the dorm room of sleeping, hungover boys, and the common room in a similar state, and calling Pansy to let her know about Draco’s newfound situation, Harry found himself in Draco’s dorm room, attempting to help fill his luggage bags with his things. Draco was currently folding his clothes in a nearly violent manner, muttering under his breath about how unfair the situation was. The line between his brows was more prominent than Harry had seen it in a while. His narrow shoulders were inching towards his ears, strained beyond belief.  
  
Harry abandoned the toiletries he’d been packing and walked over to where Draco stood by his bed. He could practically feel the agitation oozing off of the smaller boy as he gently hugged him from behind, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist and hunching over to set his chin on his shoulder. The fabric of his pull-over sweater was soft against his hands. He felt Draco freeze, then all the tension seemed to melt from his body. His arms dropped to his sides and his head came back to rest on Harry’s shoulder.  
  
“Does it make me an awful person,” Draco asked, “if I’m already dreading having to see my father?”  
  
With a heavy sigh through his nose, Harry turned his face into Draco’s neck, pressing gentle kisses there. “Of course not, Dray. You have every reason to have resentments against your father.” Harry tightened his hold on his boyfriend, pulling him closer to his chest. “Your feelings are _always_ valid, Draco, and you can _always_ come to me with them. I’ll always be there to listen to you and help you.”  
  
“Will you…” Draco swallowed and rested his cold hands on top of Harry’s. “Will you come with me when my parents come to pick me up? Meet my mum?”  
  
Apprehension crept up Harry’s spine. It filled his lungs, stuttering his breathing. His heart skipped a beat and jumped into his throat. His tongue felt like sandpaper in his mouth. _He wants me to meet his parents?_ The thought sent uneasiness flooding his body, his veins. But before he showed any outward signs of his panic, Harry buried the feeling. This was something important to Draco, and he would keep his word.  
  
“Yeah, of course I will,” Harry assured. Pressing one more kiss on his temple, Harry pulled away from Draco and started walking to the bathroom to pack the rest of his boyfriend’s things. But before he got very far, he heard a quiet, “Thank you” from behind him. A soft smile made its way onto Harry’s lips, even as he tried to quell the anxiety and uneasiness rising up in him.  
  
Harry knew he’d have to meet Draco’s parents eventually, just like he’d hoped that Draco would meet Sirius and the rest of his makeshift someday soon.  
  
He just hadn’t anticipated the fear it would stir up. 

Walking to the front doors of Hogwarts Academy was quite possibly one of the most anxiety-inducing things that Harry Potter had ever done. Only, it wasn’t the journey there that terrified him, but rather what awaited him on the other side of those ornately-carved doors. Certainly, nothing could go quite as horrible as the scenarios Harry had playing on repeat in his mind—hostility, abduction, murder, spontaneous combustion, the likes—but there was always a chance.  
  
With slow strides, Harry walked beside Draco, towing his boyfriend’s wheeled luggage bag behind him and his green and silver duffle bag slung over his shoulder and occasionally glancing at him. Draco’s face was a torrent of mixed signals. His brows were drawn together, his eyes were stony and closed off, and his nose tended to twitch every and again. And yet, there was the smallest of smiles—minuscule, really—on his lips, and Harry could see that just behind the frigid wall in his eyes, there was a flicker of light.  
  
As they approached the door, the atmosphere shifted, now charged with the combined uneasiness of both boys. Harry felt his hands begin to sweat. It was like his lungs struggled to function, the air had to fight to get to his brain and each of his muscles.  
  
He fought off the apprehension burrowing in his bones. Slowly, Draco reached out a trembling hand to pull the large door open. But just before his fingertips touched, Harry gripped his hand and pulled it to his chest. Draco’s fingers instantly gripped his worn t-shirt like he was holding on for support.  
  
“Dray,” Harry said, looking deep into his beautiful, steely gray eyes, “baby, if you don’t want to go, we can turn around right now and you can tell your father to come and pick you up on Monday. It’s _okay_ to not want to go right now, especially when you didn’t have any time to prepare or _anything._”  
  
Slowly but surely, Harry watched as Draco’s resolve strengthened—as if realizing he truly had a choice made him more resilient in his decision. “I’m okay.” Draco took a step closer, his hand released the fabric of Harry’s t-shirt, his long fingers splayed across his chest. “I’ll be okay, muffin, I promise.”  
  
“_...muffin?_” A disbelieving laugh rushed from his mouth. Draco had been trying for about a week or so to find a pet name that suited Harry, but so far none of his attempts had been successful. He’d tried sugar, sweetums, sugar plum, loverboy, and so many others that had only made Harry laugh.  
  
“No?”  
  
“No!”  
  
Draco’s eyes only softened while his smile spread. His fingers trailed down Harry’s stomach until his fingers hooked in the belt loops of his jeans, jerking Harry closer with his hold. “I love you,” he whispered, almost conspiratorially.  
  
Grinning down at him, Harry leaned in and pressed a swift kiss to Draco’s lips, pulling away and smirking at the sight of Draco chasing him for more. With a quick kiss to his forehead, Harry replied, “I love you too, kitten.” After adjusting the strap of the duffle bag on his shoulder, Harry turned Draco back around to face the great door.  
  
Draco’s shoulders lifted with a deep sigh. Harry watched as his boyfriend reached out his hand and pulled the door open, seemingly in slow motion. Sunlight poured into the previously dim entrance hallway. Nervously, Harry followed Draco outside onto the steps that led to the doors. His eyes immediately caught on the absurdly expensive-looking black car that was parked in the cul-de-sac in front of the steps.  
  
Harry watched as the front doors opened. A man with shoulder-length white-blond hair stepped out of the farther driver’s side door, dressed in a lavish black suit and holding a cane in his pale hand. Harry felt a surge of combined nervousness and animosity hit him like a punch to the stomach just looking at Lucius Malfoy.  
  
From the passenger side door came a woman—assumedly Narcissa Malfoy—who also had blonde hair, although it was a few shades darker and the top section of her hair was nearly black. She wore a deep green colored blouse tucked into a pair of black dress pants, both looking like they were made of extremely fine materials. Although instead of the scowl that adorned her husband’s face, Mrs. Malfoy’s held a warm smile as she looked at her son.  
  
The next thing Harry knew, Draco had dashed down the steps and thrown his arms around his mother, hugging her tightly. She held him just as fiercely, so close there was no space between them. The boy was only a few inches taller than her, and about the same height as his father, from what Harry could tell. From over Draco’s shoulder, Mrs. Malfoy opened her eyes and stared directly at Harry. Her gaze was calculating like she was assessing what kind of threat Harry might pose. Discomfort blossomed in Harry’s chest, but he refused to look away from her sharp eyes.  
  
Lucius rounded the car and cleared his throat nearly violently, garnering Draco’s attention. The boy quickly pulled away from his mother. Harry caught a glimpse of annoyance in her expression before it disappeared, so fast he almost thought he imagined it.  
  
Stiffly, on both sides, father and son shook hands and exchanged a few rigid words, quietly enough that Harry only heard mumbling. With deliberate steps and an absurd amount of brainpower focused on not falling, Harry walked down the steps to stand about a foot behind his boyfriend, meeting Mrs. Malfoy’s softened eyes before his attention was drawn to Lucius Malfoy.  
  
The man’s scowl had deepened. His nose had wrinkled. His piercing grey eyes glared up at him, sweeping up and down his body, lingering on any place he found skin. His _brown_ skin. The nervousness and anxiety that had strangled Harry quickly dissipated, replaced by burning indignation that he felt deep in his bones. He found himself straightening his spine and lifting his chin, staring not at the father of his boyfriend, but at the man who had taught Draco those awful words. The man who had used those words like they were _casual_—like they were anywhere near _acceptable._ The man who had insulted Harry’s people, his friends, his family—perhaps not directly, but any time those words were uttered, it pained them all.  
  
“Father,” Draco said, stepping back to stand beside Harry, hooking two of his fingers with two of Harry’s, “Mum—Mother, this is Harry. My… boyfriend.”  
  
If possible, Lucius’ glower became even more disapproving.  
  
Harry felt the tension rising like strings were pulling at his heart, knocking it around in his chest. So instead, Harry turned to Mrs. Malfoy with what he hoped was a pleasant enough expression on his face and offered her his hand.  
  
“Hello, Mrs. Malfoy. It's lovely to finally meet you.” 

***

Although seeing his boyfriend and his mother shake hands and smile kindly at each other warmed the pit of Draco’s stomach, watching Harry and his father glower at each other was reasonably frustrating. The scowl on his father’s face was nothing new to Draco—he’d been on the receiving end of it more than his fair share. But the stony, icy expression on Harry’s face? Draco could use the fingers on one hand to count the number of times he’d seen it.  
  
The tension in the air was so thick he could have cut through it with his hand. Draco’s fingers tightened on Harry’s, attempting to nonverbally beg him to back down, just this once. Luckily, his boyfriend seemed to get the message.  
  
“Mr. Malfoy, it’s nice to meet you,” Harry gritted out. Draco could see the tension in his broad shoulders, and it was at this moment that he realized that Harry was bigger than even his _father._ (Not that Lucius Malfoy was in any way a large man, neither in height or in girth—but as a child, your father is always the biggest person. He’s always towering over you, looming over your shoulder and intimidating with his presence. Your father is just… _big._ Draco knew that he was nearly taller than his father, yet he’d never thought of himself as larger than the man, still stuck in the childhood belief that he could never truly outgrow his parents)  
  
The juxtaposition of the situation was quite disorienting.  
  
Draco’s father looked down his nose at the hand Harry had offered, sniffing in the most undignified manner Draco had ever seen from him, and choosing to ignore it. The blond boy felt the pit of his stomach wrench, his heart jumped into his throat. He’d seen the way that his father had looked at Harry, seen the way his eyes had lingered on his skin—his beautifully gorgeous brown skin.  
  
Only, Draco knew that his father didn’t see it as such. He’d seen it as loathsome. Abominable. _Shameful._  
  
With the smallest act of revolt, Draco weaved his fingers through Harry’s, gripping his hand tightly. Harry squeezed his fingers. (Draco didn’t exactly know what to do. His parents had raised him. They’d cared for him, provided for him. His mother had always been there for him, loving him and doing her best to understand him when his father couldn’t. Which was often. But Harry—Harry had listened to him from the moment they’d met. He’d always tried his best to understand. Even when they’d argued and fought, he hadn’t once shut him down or told him that his feelings were stupid or invalid. Harry had supported him. He’d held his hand through thick and thin, a smile just around the corner. Draco couldn’t say the same for his father)  
  
Harry let his other hand fall to his side, returning to the handle of the wheeled luggage bag. The look in his green eyes spoke of devastation, but it was quickly masked with a facade of detached nonchalance.  
  
Draco _hated_ that look on his boyfriend.  
  
“Draco, we’re leaving. In the car, now,” Lucius ordered, walking back around the car to get to the driver’s side door. The moment his back was turned and he’d gotten in the car, Narcissa rolled her eyes and shook her head at her husband. She stepped forward until she was less than two feet away from the boys, looking at them both with a motherly gaze.  
  
“Well, Harry, it was nice to have finally laid eyes on the boy my son is constantly writing to me about.” She set her hand on Draco’s shoulder like she was trying to soothe her son’s immediate embarrassment. The blond boy was flooded with relief when he saw the soft, small smile on Harry’s face—not that he’d expected anything else from him. “Now,” Narcissa continued, walking to the passenger side door, “be a dear and just put his things in the trunk. Draco, say goodbye quickly before your father gets even more impatient.”  
  
As she closed the door after she got in the car, Draco watched as Harry did as he was told. And at that moment, watching Harry’s muscles constrict with his movements, he realized that he wouldn’t be seeing his boyfriend for nearly a week. Of course, they’d gone days without being able to see each other before, what with Harry’s football games and practices, and Draco’s extensive homework, and the need for sleep.  
  
But somehow, this time felt different. He wouldn’t have the comfort of knowing that Harry was somewhere in the same building as him, not even a ten minute walk away. He wouldn’t have the luxury of just popping in Harry’s common room to see him, or staying the night in his warm bed.  
  
So the instant that Harry closed the trunk of the car, Draco dragged him into one of the car’s blindspots and wrapped his arms tightly around his boyfriend’s shoulders in a hug. He felt Harry’s arms come around his waist just as securely, steadying him so he didn’t have to reach up as high. Draco buried his face in Harry’s neck, trying to memorize the smell of him, the feel of his body against his own. Harry’s fingers dug into his back with how tight he was holding, and Draco couldn’t have cared less. He carded his fingers through his boyfriend’s soft, raven black hair and pulled back just far enough to plant a kiss on Harry’s mouth.  
  
If possible, Harry’s grip on him tightened more, pressing every inch of their bodies together as he kissed him. Draco never could have gotten tired of the butterflies that fluttered in his chest every time Harry kissed him like this, firm and gentle and intoxicating all at once. Each movement of his mouth sent a thrill of warmth through his body, and he knew that these next few days would be unbelievably cold without Harry to keep him warm.  
  
It didn’t last long. Draco knew he had to get in the car, where his parents awaited him. Slowly, the smaller boy pulled away, relishing in the quick kisses that Harry peppered over his face, pulling a smile from him.  
  
Looking deeply into Harry’s green eyes, Draco said, “I love you.”  
  
“I love you, Dray.” Harry leaned in and kissed his forehead before slowly unraveling his arms from around the smaller boy. Draco followed suit, letting his hands trail over every inch of skin he could touch before his hands dropped to his sides.  
  
As he opened the car door behind the passenger side door, Draco felt his resolve wavering.  
  
He’d thought the hardest part would be walking away from Harry and getting in the car. But as Draco’s father started the engine, he watched as Harry’s face gradually fell, his whole body seemed to droop. Every part of his body was screaming at him, aching to get out and hold him. Before he could even think about it, Draco’s father had started driving away, leaving Harry in the dust—along with half of Draco’s throbbing heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!! Remember, comments give me life and help me breathe, so you may as well leave one. Love you all! <3<3<3


	16. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Harry,” Pansy started again, “I know this is supposed to be some tender, peaceful moment. But I just think you should know that I think I almost broke my finger on your abs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! This took forever to write, and I really hope that it's not complete and utter trash. I hope you all enjoy this one! It's a lot longer than I first anticipated.

It was strange, how Draco’s dormitory at Hogwarts felt more like home than his bedroom in the manor. The mattress might’ve been king-sized and plush, the rugs on his shiny hardwood floor may have been extravagant, the room itself huge and with many windows—but he found himself already missing the company of his roommates and his friends. He craved the well-meaning taunts from Blaise, he longed for Theo’s calming presence, he wanted Pansy’s no-nonsense attitude. He even found himself wishing for Hermione’s witty quips. And of course, Draco missed everything about Harry. There was no possible way to narrow it down to just one thing that he yearned for; Harry was an entity that couldn’t be divided up. The very absence of his boyfriend felt strange in and of itself. Draco constantly found himself wondering why he felt so cold, so… _hollow._  
  
Two days. Draco had already spent two days in Malfoy Manor, avoiding his father and trying to find a moment alone to talk with his mum—only she was being constantly bombarded with last-minute plans for the party that would be taking place the next night. He hadn’t been able to find a convenient time to just… _talk_ with her. He hadn’t slept since he’d left Hogwarts—no matter how hard he’d tried, how long he’d lay in bed for, sleep evaded him. The dark circles growing under his eyes were a nightmare to look at.  
  
So, spread-eagled across his bed, Draco stared at his phone, waiting for Harry to be done with football practice and answer the texts he’d sent.  
  
_Draco: **Harryyyyyyyyyyy**_  
  
_Draco: **I know you’re in practice**_  
  
_Draco: **But I’m sooo boooored**_  
  
_Draco: **I need entertainment**_  
  
They’d been texting and calling each other nearly nonstop since Draco had left two days ago. Harry had called him each night before he went to bed, asking for every dull detail of Draco’s day, from what he’d drawn in his sketchbook to what he’d eaten for breakfast. The blond was just as information-hungry, practically demanding to know everything about his boyfriend’s day along with their friends’. Secluded in this house, Draco felt isolated from the people he’d made into his own makeshift family.  
  
He missed the warmth of Harry’s presence. His smile, his laugh. His body. Draco’s mind continually drifted to the feeling of being wrapped up in his boyfriend, being curled together with him and tangled in his sheets; he’d snuck some of Harry’s clothes with him just to get some remnant of that feeling—his football hoodie, a few t-shirts, a pair of sweatpants, all of which were ridiculously big on him—though he had a sneaking suspicion that Harry knew.  
  
Finally, after his eyes had unfocused staring at the ceiling, Draco’s phone pinged. Unashamedly scrambling to immediately unlock his phone, he grinned at his boyfriend’s response, laughing to himself.  
  
_Harry: **Well obviously you take precedent over my entire football career, my love**_  
  
_Harry: **I can’t believe I’ve been wasting my time running mile after mile when instead I could have been entertaining you**_  
  
_Draco: **Haha very funny**_  
  
_Draco: **How long did Hooch make you run this time?**_  
  
_Harry: **Originally it was only supposed to be six**_  
  
_Harry: **But then Fred and George finally managed to make one of their stink bombs go off in the locker room, and coach made us all run eight**_  
  
_Draco: **I knew those Weasleys were all barbarians**_  
  
_Harry: **I’m starting to think you’re right, my love. But don’t worry, the team and I have devised a plan to get back at them**_  
  
_Draco: **Oh?**_  
  
_Harry: **There may or may not be saran wrap and shaving cream involved**_  
  
A pang of longing writhed in the pit of Draco’s stomach. He wanted to _be there_. He wanted to be there, laughing at the Weasley twins, helping Harry and holding his hand and kneading the knots out of his muscles. The very thought of even being _near_ Harry—whether it be curled together on the couch in the southern common room or going for a run around the school’s grounds or kissing him senseless in some abandoned classroom—made a hand of yearning wrap itself around his heart. And that feeling warred with his love for his mother. How could he possibly want to be anywhere than at his mother’s side, celebrating her birthday? Sure, he hadn’t actually been able to see much of her, and his father had been avoiding him as much as Draco had been avoiding his father—but shouldn’t he feel at least a little bit happy to be back at home? Shouldn’t he be relieved at having a few days to himself?  
  
Instead of wallowing in his indecision, Draco shoved the feeling to the back of his mind for later examination and responded to Harry.  
  
_Draco: **I almost feel sorry for those red-headed devils**_  
  
_Harry: **Don’t, they deserve what’s coming to them**_  
  
_Harry: **I gotta go, Coach is making us lift, but I’ll call you tonight, kitten, okay?**_  
  
_Draco: **Okay, I’ll talk to you then**_  
  
Staring at the screen for a few seconds longer, Draco finally let his arm drop back down to the mattress—just as his bedroom door creaked open. Snapping his head to look at the intruder, he saw only his mother with a small smile on her face. Her hair was pulled back in a messy knot on top of her head and she was dressed in a threadbare t-shirt and tattered sweatpants—the sight reminded him of lazy Saturdays in the living room while his father was away.  
  
“Am I interrupting something?” She closed the door behind her and slowly approached the bed against the wall.  
  
A bright grin spread across Draco’s face, so wide he felt his eyes crinkle. He pushed himself into a sitting position and waved Narcissa over to come to sit with him. She beamed at him and practically threw herself on the bed, scooting up to lean against the headboard. _Finally,_ he thought, shifting so he could sit beside her. The smell of vanilla rolled off Narcissa in waves; the smell ignited a million locked away memories, reminding him of the good moments of his childhood.  
  
“So,” she started, “how’s school?”  
  
“Mum, that’s a _lame_ conversation starter.”  
  
“Would you rather me get right to the point?”  
  
Draco hesitated, narrowing his eyes at his mother.  
  
“School’s _fantastic._” Draco shifted the pillow behind him, smirking at the sarcasm even _he_ could hear in his voice. “Absolutely _wonderful._”  
  
Narcissa chuckled. “Is that so?” She leaned over and poked him in the ribs, whispering in his ear, “Is there something specific that made it so… _wonderful?_ So _fantastic?_”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Oh? So you _didn’t_ introduce me to your first boyfriend that you had been writing to me about for _weeks?_”  
  
Blood rushed to Draco’s face. He felt it staining his skin; his ears felt hot. The sheets were crumpled in his twitching fingers. He wasn’t ashamed of Harry—not in a million years—but he knew some of the things he’d written in his letters were a bit… embarrassing. Humiliating. Cliche. Juvenile. But in his defense, Harry was someone he thought was _absolutely_ worth swooning over.  
  
“How long have you two been dating for again? Two months?” she prodded. Draco looked up at his mother, smiling when he saw the genuine curiosity in her gaze, the soft smile on her face.  
  
“Three months, three weeks, and three days,” Draco said, straightening his shoulders at the giggle that came from her. He’d proudly kept track of every single day he’d gotten the privilege to call Harry his boyfriend. Blaise had eventually stopped teasing him about it. Those were two weeks that Draco would rather not relive.  
  
“You really like this boy, don’t you?” Narcissa asked. Her delicate fingers swept away a few strands of Draco’s hair that had fallen out of place. “From what you’ve told me, Harry sounds wonderful.”  
  
Draco leaned into her hand, relishing in the fleeting feeling of her fingers carding through his hair. It was a completely different sensation than when Harry did it; her nails were sharper, and the feeling of her motherly love flowered in his chest. “He really is, Mum. And I don’t just _like_ him.” The fingers in his hair receded. “I’m completely and pathetically in love with him. And he loves me, too.”  
  
The smirk that grew on Narcissa’s face was unmistakable, and yet it clashed with the concern and interest in her icy blue eyes and her sky-high eyebrows. “So… have you two…”  
  
The boy’s brows furrowed. _Is she asking what I think she’s asking?_ His lips pursed together in a tight line. “...have we _what?_”  
  
Narcissa’s eyebrow arched at a fierce angle. “Have you had sex with him?”  
  
“_Mum!_”  
  
“What? At least tell me that you’re being safe and smart about it.”  
  
Draco choked. “_Mum!_ N-no!” He gaped at her, trying to process that he was having _this_ conversation with his mother when it could have gone in so many other directions. “We’re not having sex!”  
  
High-pitched laughter bubbled out of Narcissa’s mouth as she gently shoved her son’s shoulder. Draco only watched her, leaning heavily on the headboard and trying to calm his frantic heartbeat. Once her laughter quieted, he slid down the headboard to lay his head on her thigh. He felt hands come to rest on his shoulders, fingers softly tracing circles onto his t-shirt.  
  
“Do you _want_ to have sex with him?”  
  
“_Mum!_” Draco swatted her arm, scrunching his face in discomfort. It wasn’t like he hadn’t _thought_ about it—being with Harry like that. It was impossible not to, especially since Harry was so… Harry. His heart would flutter every time the idea crossed his mind, his lungs would stutter, his face would stain red. Ever since he’d come out to his parents, he’d started to get more comfortable with thinking that he might actually be able to _have_ that one day.  
  
(That day was like a brand in his memory. Draco had been just about to turn fourteen when his friends had finally convinced him to tell his parents. He’d come home for the summer, nervous and twitchy for days on end with the apprehension of their impending reactions. Three days before Draco’s birthday, at breakfast, Lucius seemed to have had enough of his son’s agitation and demanded that Draco tell him what had gotten into him. When he’d finally stumbled the words out, red-faced and unable to make eye contact with either of them, he’d felt the anxiety building up behind his eyes, threatening to make the tears fall.  
  
Narcissa had remained silent and stone-faced in the face of Lucius’s explosive anger—screaming words that Draco would rather forget. The man had stormed out of the dining room muttering under his breath. The moment he was out of earshot, Narcissa had jumped from her seat and yanked Draco into a tight hug. He had clung to her while she whispered soothing words in his ear. Afterward, she had huddled in his room with him, asking him questions and trying to relieve him of the weight that pressed on his shoulders)  
  
“Alright, alright,” Narcissa said, “sorry, I won’t pry. Tell me everything else. How’s Pansy doing these days?” 

***

Sounds of clinking weights filled the air, accompanied by sharp breaths and grunts of exertion. Some sort of rock music played in the background. Harry tapped his foot to the beat, looking down on Katie as she lifted the barbell away from her chest, the strain prevalent on her face. There weren’t very many weights on the bar—she was better built for speed than muscular strength.  
  
“Come on, Katie,” Harry said, bent over with his hands on his knees, “just three more and then you can move on.” His own skin was slick with sweat, soaking into his tank top. The muscles in his legs were pleasantly sore from the unexpectedly extended run he’d led the team on.  
  
Katie finally finished, lifting the bar onto the hooks and sitting up. Harry grinned as she wiped at her forehead. Her shoulders sagged as he walked around to face her and sat down, straddling the bench and facing her. She looked up and scowled at his grin.  
  
“That was great!” Harry reached forward and nudged her shoulder. “That was ten more pounds than usual, Katie. I’m proud of you.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Katie stood up, smirking at him. “Let’s see how happy you are after _you_ do it.”  
  
A tired laugh made its way out of him as he shook his head at her. Scanning the room, Harry caught sight of Theo dropping from the pull-up bar and called out to him. The other boy whipped his head around to look at Harry, exhaustion riddled in every line of his developing muscles. “Come help me for a minute, will you?” Katie took that as her cue to leave, clapping Theo on the shoulder as he approached the bench press. Harry had gotten up and started taking off the weights that she had used to make room for the larger ones.  
  
“Need a spotter?” Theo asked, raking his hand through his damp hair.  
  
“That,” Harry said, lifting the first of the weights onto the bar, “and a hand putting the weights on the other side of the bar.”  
  
“How much?”  
  
Harry thought about it for a second while he lifted the second one. “Let’s go with two-thirty.”  
  
Brown eyes practically popped out of Theo’s eye sockets. “You… are you joking?” He hefted the first weight onto the opposite side of the bar. His gaze wandered down to Harry’s arms, then to his chest.  
  
“Theo,” Harry laughed, “my eyes are up here.” Faster than light, Theo’s gaze snapped back up to his face, his face becoming more flushed than it had been before. He quickly busied himself with getting another weight for the bar. “I’m kidding, mate,” Harry chuckled, finishing the weights on his side. 

The sun had set by the time Hooch had let the team go. Every muscle, joint, and bone in Harry’s body ached, even as Hermione sat behind him on the couch and rubbed at the muscles in his shoulders. Pansy sat in front of him on the floor with her head tilted back so he could braid her hair. Blaise and Theo were sprawled on the floor beside them, Theo’s head in Pansy’s lap. The northern common room was surprisingly quiet, only a few murmuring voices around them.  
  
A drowsy atmosphere had settled over their little group. Concentrating on Pansy’s hair was nearly impossible for Harry, but the familiar movements were calming, helping him wind down.  
  
Harry had thought that once Draco had left, the three of them wouldn’t have bothered to associate with him and Hermione—except for Theo, of course. Instead, they had all huddled in this very room each night that Draco had been gone, watching movies and laughing by the fireplace. The grin on Harry’s face only left when he turned to say something to Draco—only to be reminded that he wasn’t there.  
  
It felt as though half of Harry’s heart had gotten in that car and driven away. It was like his lungs had to battle for air, what was left of his heart fought for every beat. His skin felt uncomfortably hot without his ice cube of a boyfriend there to leech off of him.  
  
The memories of that day had narrowed down to those few moments. The way Lucius had looked at him with such disdain, the slight smile on Mrs. Malfoy’s face. Watching Draco get in the car and drive away.  
  
But it wouldn’t do him any good to mope around and brood simply because Draco had left for a few days.  
  
“Harry,” Hermione leaned down to whisper in his ear, her hands pausing on his shoulders, “incoming, two o’clock.” Harry’s hands hesitated in Pansy’s hair as he looked up to see none other than Ronald Weasley traipsing towards them with his hands stuffed in his jean pockets. The others hadn’t seen him yet. Rapidly tying off Pansy’s braid, Harry forced himself to maintain a neutral expression, even as a wave of boiling annoyance washed through him. _The prick had the nerve to apologize,_ Harry thought, _and then go and say those things to Hermione…_  
  
The memory of her, curled in on herself on the stairway in tears, was burned into his brain. Ron had already caused both of them so much pain and so many problems. The things he’d said had opened too many wounds; it would be a while before they could heal. But no matter how much time they gave it, Harry knew that there would always be scars on the once-clean surface of their friendship.  
  
“Hey,” Ron said, glancing between Harry and Hermione. Theo’s head snapped up from Pansy’s lap, Blaise’s eyes narrowed, glaring from where he sat beside Harry. The tension that settled over them was high-strung and strained, palpable enough that it threatened to choke Harry.  
  
No one said anything in reply. Ron’s chin tucked to his chest like he had sensed the sudden change in the atmosphere. His hands shifted in his pockets. Harry saw his thin shoulders tense, his straight nose crinkled.  
  
“Hermione, Harry… Can we talk for a minute? Please?”  
  
Pansy scoffed. “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”  
  
Out of Ron’s view, Harry touched his hand to her back as both a _thank you_ and a warning.  
  
“I—um…” Ron’s eyes darted around to Pansy, Theo, and Blaise, ever so slightly shrinking into himself as he saw the stoniness that awaited him there. “I just… I want to apologize to you, Hermione. And you, Harry.” Hermione’s hands clamped down on the muscles of Harry’s shoulders, digging her fingers in to stifle their trembling. “I said a lot of stupid, nasty things to the both of you, and—and I really wish that I hadn’t. I’m so, so sorry.”  
  
In some part of his mind, Harry had hoped that Ron would come around, that he would apologize and do his best to mend their torn friendship. But he’d gone and done that, and then ripped it apart. Again. Tore it to shreds.  
  
Harry pursed his lips, fisted the fabric of Pansy’s shirt in his hand, and counted backward from ten in his head. By the time he looked back up again, he realized that Hermione had already started scolding Ron.  
  
“...crossed so many lines, Ron. For how long we’ve been friends, you should’ve known better. You should’ve listened to some _damn_ sense. The fact that you even had the _nerve_ to say those things to Harry, to _me,_ is unbelievable.” Hermione’s small hand clenched Harry’s shirt, just loose enough to avoid choking him—but he didn’t mind. He understood the feeling.  
  
He heard Hermione sigh through her nose. “Look, Ron. We appreciate you apologizing, but we can’t forgive you right now. You’ve apologized before. You’ve said all of this before. I don’t know that either of us can get our hopes up and take you seriously right now. Maybe not for a while. But,” Hermione paused, the barest amount of kindness slipping into her next words, “it would be great if we could actually talk with each other like friends.”  
  
Some of the stress on Ron’s face eased. He dropped his eyes down to look at Harry, who realized that he hadn’t said a word. Harry let the other boy sweat for a minute before parting his lips to speak.  
  
“I need you to apologize to Draco.” Harry cut off Ron's protesting noise. “For what you said to him that day we lost to Beauxbatons. And to promise me that you won’t ever pull a dick move like that again.”  
  
Ron’s eyes dropped and he nodded his head in acquiescence. “I… Yeah. Yeah, okay.”  
  
A moment of tense silence passed before Ron looked each of them in the eye and then walked away, to the common room door and out into the corridor. Harry finally allowed himself to relax, uncurling his fist from Pansy’s shirt. He felt Hermione’s fingers pry from his shoulders. She slid down off the couch to the floor, squeezing herself into the space between Harry and the couch, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, resting her forehead against his back.  
  
Closing his eyes, Harry concentrated on taking slow, deep, even breaths. The rhythm of his heart still felt off-kilter. But as he felt Hermione’s heartbeat through his back, he felt his own begin to match hers.  
  
All of a sudden, Harry felt Pansy throw her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his cheek in a quick kiss before bringing her body closer to his until she was halfway in his lap. “Thank you,” she said, “for not letting Ron get away with what he said to Draco.” Harry nodded, peering over her shoulder to see Blaise and Theo, both looking at him with soft smiles.  
  
“Harry,” Pansy started again, “I know this is supposed to be some tender, peaceful moment. But I just think you should know that I think I almost broke my finger on your abs.”  
  
Chortling laughter burst out of Harry’s mouth, quickly followed by Pansy giggling and Theo choking. As he gently shoved Pansy off of him, he patted Hermione’s hands to let her know that he was okay. She just stayed where she was, and Harry knew that she was grounding herself, even as she let a muffled, quiet laugh past her lips.  
  
“Oh, come on, they can’t be _that_ hard!” Blaise protested.  
  
“No, seriously!” Pansy punctuated this by poking Harry’s stomach with her finger, making him laugh harder. The jabbing at his stomach was soon followed by prodding at his arms and shoulders. “It’s like he’s packing rocks in there!”  
  
Blaise only shook his head in disbelief and leaned forward to get a poke in for himself. Harry’s smile was crooked when he looked at an aghast Blaise, who continued to nudge at him like he was making sure it was real. “_Damn,_ Pansy you’re _right._ Theo, come check this out!”  
  
“Believe me, I already knew. I see enough of it at practices.”  
  
Pansy smiled up at Harry, and he knew right then that none of his friends would be leaving him any time soon. They would stick by him, as long as he did the same. That thought brought more comfort at that moment than any of his calming techniques. The only thing that could have made it better would have been Draco, sitting there with them, laughing and smiling with them. 

***

Draco could only think of three redeemable things about his mother’s party.  
  
The first was the food. He couldn’t be bothered to remember what restaurant it was that catered, but whoever it was, Draco could have eaten their food for _days._ It was so ridiculously delicious, it should have been illegal. Of course, Draco had to make sure no one important was near him when he devoured everything in sight, but the tastes made it all worth it.  
  
The second was the fact that he finally got to take his favorite suit of his closet and wear it. It was perfectly tailored to every inch of him, and Draco was completely okay with admitting to himself that he looked _damn good_ in it.  
  
The third and final thing was his mother’s bright smile. From across the room, he watched her chatting animatedly with a few of her friends, a glass of champagne in her hand. Dressed in a beautifully form-fitting black dress with a halter-top neck, her hair curled and swept from her face with a comb on one side, Narcissa was absolutely radiant. It warmed Draco’s heart to see her so ecstatic, her smile spread to her eyes. Lucius stood at her side with his hand on the small of her back, speaking to two men that Draco didn’t care to recognize.  
  
But even his mother’s happiness couldn’t change that the noise in the manor drove Draco insane. He could hardly handle the noise in the Great Hall of Hogwarts—this was completely overwhelming. He’d spent the first hour standing in the entrance hall, welcoming guests with his parents under the smothering gaze of his father. Then they’d moved on to the dining room for dinner, where the sounds only amplified off the walls. Draco’s knuckles still hurt from clenching his hands so tightly.  
  
The worst part of dinner had been sitting between his father and his great aunt Iris.  
  
“Draco, dear, have you decided what university you’ll be studying at?” Iris had asked, glancing at Lucius, who turned toward his son with an expectant glint in his grey eyes.  
  
“I’ve been looking around at a few—”  
  
Lucius had cut him off, speaking to Iris. “Draco will be attending London Business School after he graduates. I’ve tried to secure him a spot in both Cambridge and Oxford, but he hasn’t taken the right classes in Hogwarts, and his grades simply aren’t high enough. They wouldn’t have him.”  
  
Draco’s mouth had gone dry. His tongue had felt like sandpaper. Lucius had mentioned universities before, but he’d never said anything about already having chosen where Draco would supposedly attend. “Father, I was looking more at—”  
  
“He will be studying to take over your company, yes?” Iris asked Lucius.  
  
“Of course. Once he graduates university, he’ll start training with me.”  
  
Not a word had been spoken to Draco himself. Iris and Lucius had just sat there, planning out his entire future before him. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell his father that the last thing he wanted to do was study business and take over his stupid company. He didn’t even know what Lucius’ company _did,_ or what his father did there. He had _no interest_ in knowing, and yet Lucius seemed set on this idea that Draco would someday take over.  
  
Now, going on almost four hours, Draco was ready to sneak out of the parlor and curl in a ball on his bed. He felt as though he’d disconnected from his body, he was seeing everything through his eyes, but he didn’t feel anything. He needed an escape. However, there was a good chance that Lucius would notice his absence, and leaving his mother’s birthday party didn’t sound like something a decent son would do.  
  
So, Draco stood there, leaning against one of the walls and trying to ignore the too-bright light of the crystal chandelier for what felt like hours until he noticed that the crowd had started to thin. Spotting Narcissa waving him over, Draco quickly followed his parents out into the entrance hall to begin saying their farewells.  
  
_Finally,_ Draco thought. 

The instant the last guests had left—some elderly couple that Draco didn’t know—Draco dashed up the grand staircase and down the hall to his bedroom. As soon as he heard the door click behind him, he’d practically ripped off his suit, nearly tripping over himself, and thrown on the sweatpants he’d stolen from Harry, along with his football hoodie. The overpowering scent of his boyfriend grounded him, almost like he could hear Harry’s voice in his ear, gentle and quiet.  
  
He needed to do something. Standing still wasn’t doing him any good, it only made the monster of anxiety writhe in the pit of his stomach. He could hear his heartbeat hammering in his ears. The pounding in his head was unrelenting.  
  
Forcing his limbs to move, Draco ambled to his suitcase beside the bed, pulling out all the art supplies he’d brought with him, then shuffled to sit down at his desk. Flipping through his sketchbook, Draco smiled at the ones that depicted his friends. His heart steadied when he saw the one he’d drawn of Pansy, a wicked grin splitting her lips. The next few pages were all of Harry. His lungs stopped stuttering as he studied the rendition of his boyfriend’s face.  
  
Draco remembered that this piece was the first time he’d managed to get Harry’s eyes right. The color, the shape, the hidden depths, all of it. Harry had taken what felt like hours to study it once Draco had finished. And then he’d brought Draco’s lips up to his own and kissed him, laying him down on the pillows of Draco’s bed. Harry had kissed him, touched him, and teased him until Draco was a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him. The smaller boy had clutched Harry closer to him until there was no space between them. Until every inch of their bodies was pressed together.  
  
The memory brought a surge of warmth to his face. He felt the pieces of himself start to fall back into place. Draco picked up his pencil and set it to paper, letting his mind wander as his hands took over.  
  
After a while, the picture came to fruition—a crown of flowers set on Harry’s head. The colors bled into each other. The flowers were hardly defined, he could barely tell what kind they were supposed to be. But Harry’s face was nearly as beautiful as it was in person; his eyes were closed and his face was turned as if he were bathing in sunlight. It was messier than Draco usually went for, but he hadn’t used his oil pastels in a while, so he thought it was at least decent.  
  
Until his bedroom door opened from behind him.  
  
The sound that came from his father started out as a sigh but quickly turned into a low, angry growling noise. 

***

Harry barely heard the ringing of his phone through the haze of sleep. Groaning, he fumbled to disentangle himself from his sheets, glancing at his clock—which told him it was half past midnight—before sitting up and picking up his phone.  
  
It was Draco.  
  
_Something’s wrong,_ Harry thought, his stomach twisting into a knot. He’d tried calling Draco earlier that night, but he hadn’t picked up. Harry had just assumed that he was still at his mother’s party. He quickly answered his phone, his voice gravelly and deep with sleep as he spoke.  
  
“Hey, baby, what’s up?”  
  
“Harry,” Draco’s voice was quiet and thick like he’d been crying. “I need you to come get me.”  
  
The sleepiness that had plagued both Harry’s mind and body immediately dissipated. “Dray, what’s wrong?”  
  
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and Harry felt as though everything around him had frozen. He heard Draco sniff before he started talking again, his voice thicker than before. “I just…” Draco sounded like he was holding back tears, and Harry immediately jumped out of bed and scrambled to pull some clothes on. “I r-really need you, I n-need you to come get me, Harry, _please, please come g-get me._”  
  
Harry snatched his keys from his nightstand. Whatever trace of grogginess that might have remained was long gone. His heart clenched as he heard his boyfriend’s stifled sobs through his phone. “I’m on my way, baby, okay? I’ll be there as soon as I can. I promise. Take some deep breaths for me, okay?”  
  
Making as little noise as he could, Harry dashed out of his dorm room, then down to the common room and out into the corridor. He listened closely to Draco’s breathing as he ran to the secret passage that led closest to the school’s garage, completely disregarding the fact that it was nighttime and he could very well get caught for sneaking out after curfew.  
  
Even though his muscles were slightly sore from training the day before, Harry ran as fast as his legs would take him through the corridors, into the garage, and dashed for his car. Draco’s breaths hadn’t improved; he sounded like there was a weight on his chest. His muffled cries hadn’t relented. Harry started his car and hoped that it wouldn’t alert anyone to him leaving as he quickly pulled out of the garage and got on the main road, still holding the phone to his ear with one hand.  
  
“Dray, I need you to send me the address, okay?” Harry’s heart had dropped to the pit of his stomach, fear burrowed down deep in his bones. _What the hell happened to him?_  
  
Draco made an affirmative noise. And then hung up after a few seconds of silence.  
  
The sound of Harry’s pounding heart drowned out everything else. The only thing he could think about was Draco’s face—afraid, vacant—as he’d gotten in the car to drive away, and how he’d known that something was bound to go wrong.  
  
His phone pinged from beside him, a text from Draco that only contained the manor’s address. Harry quickly put it into his GPS and drove as fast as he could. The thought of making Draco wait made his fingers twitch against the wheel. 

The gates that surrounded Malfoy Manor looked more like a cage in the face of the midnight sky. Harry had already called Draco to tell him that he had arrived as he’d parked the car in front of them. He was currently pacing back and forth in front of the black, wrought iron gates, not caring about the chill in the air. Behind them was a long driveway that led to a menacingly large manor with huge, ornately carved doors—doors that suddenly opened.  
  
Harry whipped his head up to see Draco sprinting down the driveway, his face blotchy and sobs still breaking from his mouth. He barely registered that his boyfriend was wearing his sweatpants and his hoodie as he shoved the gates open to run to him.  
  
Draco flung his arms around Harry as they crashed together. Harry crushed the smaller boy to his chest, sweeping his hands over every inch of him he could reach, checking for anything wrong. Draco’s entire body was shaking, his tears soaked into the loose gym tank top Harry wore. One of his hands was wound in Harry’s hair, the other clenched on his shoulder. The sensation of having his boyfriend so close to him again made happiness flower throughout his entire body, but it was soon suffocated.  
  
As much as it pained him, Harry pulled away but didn’t go far. His hands cupped Draco’s face, thumbs wiping away the trails of tears going down his cheeks. “Baby, what happened?”  
  
Draco closed his puffy, red-tinged eyes, tilting his chin down to his chest. “I-I was—and, and Father came in—and—” Words sputtered out. His face crumpled and more tears flowed down his face, a choked breath escaped his lips. Harry felt as though someone had sucker-punched him in the stomach.  
  
He quickly brought Draco back to him. Harry felt him grip the back of his shirt in fists as he cradled Draco’s head against his shoulder, pressing his lips against his hair, wrapping his other arm around his waist. All of Draco’s weight sagged against him like the boy couldn’t find it in himself to support any of it.  
  
Harry would gladly help Draco stand when he couldn’t do it on his own.  
  
Over his boyfriend’s head, Harry noticed Mrs. Malfoy walking down the driveway towards them with her hair pulled up in a messy bun atop her head, dressed in a green t-shirt and black leggings. She dragged Draco’s luggage behind her, his duffle bag slung over her shoulder. She looked… devastated. Her eyes were locked on Harry, but this time, her eyes were missing the calculating glint.  
  
She stopped less than three feet away from them, but Draco didn’t seem to notice her. Regret was woven through her words as she spoke, “Take care of him, Harry.”  
  
The words slowly sunk in. Harry pressed Draco even closer to his body as if he could chase away his tears.  
  
“I promise I will, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry said.  
  
“Narcissa, please,” she corrected. A wave of fondness swept over him as he nodded his head. She looked past both of them at Harry’s car, saying, “You get him in the car, I’ll put the bags in the trunk.”  
  
Harry started to protest, but the sharp look in Narcissa’s eye cut him short. Instead, he popped the trunk and led a hiccuping Draco to the passenger side door. But before he opened the door, he noticed the bruise-like dark circles under Draco’s eyes. His heart skipped a beat.  
  
“When was the last time you slept, love?” Harry asked gently, brushing away strands of blond hair that had fallen in front of his face. Draco grabbed his hand, holding it to his downturned face.  
  
“With you, before I left,” Draco whispered. His voice was ragged and thick. He leaned into Harry’s hand, pressing his soft mouth to his palm.  
  
Harry leaned forward and kissed Draco’s forehead before opening his door and slowly letting go of him so he could get in. It broke his heart to see how his boyfriend curled into himself on the seat, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs, his forehead on his knees.  
  
Narcissa closed the trunk just as Harry reached the driver’s side door. She stopped in front of him. And then tugged him down into a hug.  
  
Shock slapped Harry in the face. He hesitated before carefully bringing his arms around her back. He had to hunch over so she could reach his neck comfortably, but he didn’t mind. Her warmth was a kind that he seldom felt—the kind that could only be found in a mother. The closest thing he’d ever had to one was Tonks, and even then it was a stretch. Narcissa simply emanated motherly warmth, and Harry was tentative in accepting it.  
  
Pulling away, Narcissa gave him a watery smile. “My son loves you, Harry. So, I hope to see more of you. And get to know you better.” She waited for him to nod his head before leaving, closing the gates behind her and walking to the doors of the manor.  
  
Slowly, Harry opened his door and got in the car, starting it and driving away. He glanced at Draco as he drove, then reached a hand out to gently rub his trembling shoulder. The only sound Harry could hear was Draco’s uneven, choking breaths. His lips pressed in a thin line as he drove.  
  
When they finally parked in Hogwarts’ garage, Draco had fallen asleep with his head against the window. As Harry got out of the car, he decided to leave his boyfriend’s things in the trunk until morning. He gently shook Draco awake, but the boy only latched onto his neck with his eyes still closed, so Harry carefully lifted him up and out of the car, clutching him close to his body. Draco’s legs wrapped around his hips and his head lolled onto Harry’s shoulder.  
  
Getting through the castle without being spotted by any teachers on patrol was trickier this time, but Harry managed it. By the time he got to his dormitory, his muscles were screaming at him for carrying Draco the whole way when he was already sore, but the tranquil, peaceful look on Draco’s sleeping face was worth it. His heart squeezed remembering how torn he had looked not even an hour before, how crushed and heartbroken.  
  
Draco’s eyes fluttered open when Harry went to set him down on his bed, still puffy and dark underneath. His lanky arms tightened around Harry’s neck, bringing him down to the bed with him. So Harry grabbed the blanket and drew it over the both of them and tucked the smaller boy’s head under his chin.  
  
Harry had unexpectedly grown an inch or two in the past few months, so Draco now fit more comfortably against him. When they’d first noticed, it had bothered Draco to no end.  
  
Now, running his hand up and down Draco’s back, Harry asked, “Do you want to talk about it now, or in the morning, love?” He felt Draco bury his face in his chest, curling his arms around him and throwing one of his legs over Harry’s hips.  
  
“In the morning,” Draco whispered. “Thank you, Harry.”  
  
Though he didn’t specify, Harry knew what Draco was thanking him for.  
  
“I’ll always be here for you, my love,” Harry promised. “I love you, Draco.”  
  
“I love you, Harry.”  
  
Harry felt it when Draco drifted to sleep, his chest moving against his own with deep, even breaths. He finally allowed himself to reflect on the events of the night. Whatever Lucius had done, Harry knew there was only so much he could do about it.  
  
But for now, he buried his face in Draco’s silky hair and closed his eyes, soaking in everything he could in his presence, and settled into sleep.  
  
There was no way in hell he was going to classes tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are! I love getting comments and hearing from you guys! Kudos are pretty cool too, but like, comments give me life, sooo... I hope you all enjoyed this!


	17. A Balance of Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He heard Harry’s sharp intake of breath, his gaze focused on Draco’s ribs. Draco looked down, only to see a large purple and blue bruise covering the expanse of his right ribs. Memories of falling down the stairs flashed through his mind—he couldn’t really recall everything that had happened, but he knew it was a possibility that he’d slammed his side on one of the stairs at some point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dearest readers, I'm seriously so sorry that this chapter is so late. There's been so much going on, my life has been so hellish and for the past two weeks... this chapter was sooo hard to write, and I'm so sorry that it's not as good as usual, so I hope you accept this apology and don't hate me too much.  
I hope you at least somewhat enjoy this?

Harry woke with his eyes still closed and every muscle in his body tight and unrelenting, sharply inhaling and clenching his fingers in the sheets. The rhythm of his breaths stuttered, his heartbeat was frantically hectic. Whatever memory of his dream—_nightmare_—he might have disappeared as soon as he opened his eyes, only to squint in the morning sunlight that filtered through his bed curtains. The fear he’d felt last night, the terror that something horrible had happened—he’d had a feeling that sleep would only torment him once he’d closed his eyes.  
  
That’s why after Draco had fallen asleep, Harry had taken a quick run down to his car to grab his boyfriend’s things and stashed them under his bed, attempting to at least somewhat clear his mind.  
  
The nightmare had still come for him.  
  
Luckily, it wasn’t nearly as nasty as the last few he’d had here and there.  
  
But something was missing. The space in his sheets, where Draco had fallen asleep in Harry’s arms, was empty. He took a moment to relax his body before lifting his head from his pillow, spotting a head of blond hair. Sighing heavily through his nose, Harry eased himself into a sitting position against his headboard. Draco sat in the corner of the foot of the bed where the bedpost met the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs, forehead resting on his knees. He was still dressed in Harry’s sweatpants and hoodie, practically drowning in them.  
  
There were no telltale signs of anyone else in the dormitory; Harry assumed they had all left for classes already.  
  
Harry knew that his boyfriend was awake. He didn’t blame Draco for moving away from him sometime in the night, but he couldn’t help the small twinge of hurt he felt. But he understood—at least, he thought he did—and he set it aside as he watched Draco lift his head and set his chin on his knees, his gaze unfocused on the red curtains. The elegant, sharp lines of his face were nearly overshadowed by the bruise-like dark circles under his eyes—lighter than they had been the day before, yet still evident. The blotchiness of his impeccably pale skin made worry crawl up Harry’s spine like chilled fingers.  
  
“Dray,” Harry said softly, shifting so he sat next to the other boy with about a foot of space between them. Draco’s eyes slowly shifted to look at him, his gaze no longer glassy. “Is… is it okay if I hold you?”  
  
For a moment, nothing happened.  
  
Both boys simply stared at the other, the silence between them wasn’t tense or comfortable, but somewhere between. There seemed to be shadows hiding behind Draco’s eyes, the light usually in them was hardly able to shine through.  
  
Relief crashed over Harry when he saw Draco finally start to unravel himself. Every movement was slow and careful as he inched across the sheets between them. He crawled into Harry’s lap, latching onto him—his legs crossed behind Harry’s back, his chest pressed tightly against Harry’s, his arms wrapped around Harry’s neck, his face buried in the junction of his neck and shoulder. One of Draco’s hands tangled in Harry’s unruly black hair while the other fisted the fabric of his loose tank top between his shoulder blades.  
  
Harry felt his boyfriend’s warm breath on his skin as he wound his arms around him; one across Draco’s lower back, drawing him as close as humanly possible, his other hand cradling Draco’s head. He wished that he could be zipped into the same skin with Draco. He wanted to hold him closer than this, to be wrapped up with him in every way possible.  
  
“Do you want to tell me about what happened last night?” Harry whispered, pressing his lips to Draco’s temple. Carding his fingers through his blond hair, Harry gently kissed his way down Draco’s face to his jaw, craning his head to reach Draco’s neck, burying his face there. He felt Draco’s deep breath as his smaller chest moved against his own.  
  
Harry waited.  
  
And waited.  
  
He shifted his head, nuzzling his cheek against Draco’s, the tip of his nose caressing the sensitive skin under Draco’s ear. The fingers in Harry’s hair lightly scratched against his head.  
  
“I was…” Draco swallowed. Harry felt his hand tighten on his shirt before he started again, his voice small yet heavy and slow. “I was in my room. After the party had finally finished and everyone had gone home. I thought… I didn’t think that… I thought my parents had gone to bed.”  
  
A horrible, awful sort of feeling settled over Harry. His hand started running up and down Draco’s back in an attempt to soothe him.  
  
“I was just at my desk, drawing, when I heard my bedroom door open from behind me. My father came in and… and he got so _angry,_ Harry. I didn’t even really understand _why_. He started saying things about how I was wasting my time, how this is why he couldn’t get me into Oxford or Cambridge… I tried to hide my sketchbook and he… he started _yelling_ at me. It’s not the first time he’s yelled at me but—the _look_ on his _face,_ Harry…”  
  
The hand in Harry’s hair froze. Draco’s breathing stuttered, and Harry felt his boyfriend’s shoulders shudder with silent tears. Harry couldn’t exactly identify the messy, overpowering emotion he felt tearing his heart apart; a concoction of violent anguish, fury, and bitter heartache that made his chest feel as though it was collapsing in on itself. (He knew. He knew what it felt like. To be yelled at, screamed at, and blamed by the people who were supposed to love him) Pressure built rapidly behind Harry’s eyes, but he kept the tears at bay as Draco continued.  
  
“I can’t even remember what he was yelling _about._ The next thing I remember he had shoved me away and grabbed everything off my desk… my sketchbooks, pencils, all of it. Before I knew it he was down the stairs and—and I was…” Every inch of Draco’s body was quivering with the force of his choking sobs, as though he was trying to keep them quiet, to silence them. Harry could feel the pain emanating off of him. “I was _screaming_ for him to stop, Harry. I don’t think I’ve _ever_ screamed like that in my whole life, but _he wouldn’t listen._”  
  
Harry clutched Draco even tighter to his body. The images flashing through his head made his stomach plummet.  
  
“I tried to follow him down the stairs—but I tripped over myself halfway down and fell the rest of the way.” Draco pulled back only far enough to face Harry. The dejection that was written across his face, the trembling line of his mouth, the tears trailing down his blotchy cheeks—it all made Harry’s heart splinter into a million pieces. Harry slowly leaned forward and gently leaned his forehead against Draco’s, trying to keep the images of Draco—crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, bruised and screaming and sobbing—at bay. It didn’t work. Before he could make any more effort to stop them, tears ran down his face. “I watched my father throw _everything_ in the fireplace. He threw away _everything_ I had worked so hard on, everything I… I couldn’t _move,_ Harry, I couldn’t _breathe,_ I felt so… so… _helpless._ I felt like I could scream forever and no one would ever hear me.”  
  
Cold fingers released Harry’s hair and trailed down to the pulse point at his neck—like Draco was just feeling the rhythm of his heart.  
  
“When everything was burned…” Draco whispered, his icy fingers sending chills down Harry’s spine, “Father told me that—that he’d done it for my own good, and that I’d thank him later, that he wouldn’t have had to if I’d just _listened_ to _him…_ and then he just walked away. Like _nothing_ had happened, like he hadn’t done anything _wrong._”  
  
Slowly, giving him time to move away, Harry moved his hands to cup Draco’s face and kissed his forehead, then moved down to kiss cheeks. He could taste the salt of Draco’s tears on his lips as he kissed them away. A trembling sigh escaped Draco’s mouth. His chilled fingers pressed more firmly on Harry’s pulse—just enough to make Harry feel it too.  
  
Pausing, Harry whispered, “Thank you. For trusting me, for calling me, and for telling me.” He opened his eyes to see Draco already looking at him with red-tinted, puffy, miserable eyes. He tried to convey what he couldn’t put into words through that gaze. “What your father did, what he said to you, all of it was _completely wrong,_ and you didn’t deserve _any of it._ Nothing you could have done would have changed who he is, and _none of it is your fault._” Harry brushed away a few stray strands of Draco’s blond hair. “I love you, Draco.”  
  
The only reply Draco gave was a nod before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Harry’s. The kiss was slow and careful; Harry was afraid that if he pushed too hard, Draco might shatter in his hands. He felt one of Draco’s icy hands delve into his loose tank top, splaying over his broad shoulder. Harry could taste the salt of their tears on Draco’s lips. The tender, soft glide of Draco’s mouth against his own made goosebumps rise on his skin and cool affection and fondness pool in the pit of his stomach.  
  
Harry slowly pulled away and gently kissed Draco’s forehead, settling in to just cuddle with him for a while. Draco followed him down to lay on the pillows, wrapping himself around Harry in every way possible. Harry only held him tightly, keeping his lips pressed to Draco’s hair. An idea had taken residence in his head, and he hoped that it would make this painful, dismal day at least somewhat better.  
  
He felt the moment when Draco’s tears subsided, and an atmosphere of peace somehow managed to settle over them. 

***

“Harry, where are we going?” Draco asked, a whiny tone seeping into his words. “I was comfortable.” Harry had painstakingly coaxed him out of bed. He’d finally given in, allowing his boyfriend to haul Draco to his feet.  
  
“To the bathroom,” Harry said, taking Draco’s hands in both of his and slowly walking him to the bathroom door in the dorm. “I’m willing to bet that you haven’t had a bath in what you think is way too long and that you feel filthy—even though you still look as gorgeous as ever. Plus,” Harry paused to open the door, smiling at Draco’s narrowed, indignant gaze, “you could use a little relaxation.”  
  
Waves of affection washed over Draco. _How is it,_ Draco thought, _that he always seems to know what I need before I do?_ Leaning forward, Draco reached up and pressed a kiss to Harry’s jaw as they walked in. He took in the bathroom around him, identical to the one in his own dorm room; the white tile floor, the diamond-shaped walk-in shower in one corner, the corner bathtub in the other, all of it.  
  
Once they stood in the center of the bathroom, Draco felt Harry’s hands drift down to the bottom of his hoodie. Warm fingers dipped underneath the soft fabric, brushing against the skin at Draco’s hips. Harry’s eyes were questioning—like he was asking for permission. Draco was slightly surprised to find that he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed as he shucked the hoodie over his head, letting it fall to the floor.  
  
He heard Harry’s sharp intake of breath, his gaze focused on Draco’s ribs. Draco looked down, only to see a large purple and blue bruise covering the expanse of his right ribs. Memories of falling down the stairs flashed through his mind—he couldn’t really recall everything that had happened, but he knew it was a possibility that he’d slammed his side on one of the stairs at some point.  
  
_Funny,_ he thought, _I hadn’t even noticed it was there._  
  
Fingertips lightly skimmed over the bruised skin, bringing Draco back to the present. He could see the concern in his boyfriend’s green eyes, the unease, and sadness. Draco almost thought it was amusing, how Harry was more worried about it than he was. But instead of lingering on it, Draco watched Harry’s fingers drift down to the ties that kept the sweatpants on Draco’s hips.  
  
With deft movements, Harry untied the strings, all the while keeping Draco’s gaze. Draco could tell that his boyfriend was monitoring his every movement, the pattern of his breathing—heavy and staggering as it was—to make sure he was still okay with where he was taking things. It felt as though Draco’s lungs couldn’t get quite enough air—but not in a bad way. It was like the adrenaline made it impossible to breathe properly. His heart was beating so fast and hard that he was sure Harry could hear it.  
  
Every time Harry’s knuckles brushed against his skin, a thrill of pleasure shot through his veins. When the sweatpants had dropped to the floor, Harry hooked two of his fingers in the elastic band of Draco’s briefs, tugging Draco closer to him. Draco couldn’t help the sharp breath he took, the feeling of Harry’s fingers on his sensitized skin nearly overwhelmed him. Pleasure shivered down his spine and goosebumps appeared on his pale skin. He felt dizzy, like the smell of Harry, the feel of him touching his skin, had all gone straight to his head.  
  
“You start the water,” Harry said, his voice deep, gravelly, and low, “and I’ll be back with your things, okay?” His green eyes were so intense, so deep and focused on Draco. It was all the smaller boy could do to nod while Harry leaned forward to softly touch his lips to Draco’s cheek. He leisurely removed his fingers, taking a moment to skim over everything he could touch, and walked out the door, leaving it cracked behind him.  
  
Draco took a moment to calm himself—taking deep breaths and banishing the images from his mind—before he turned on the warm water in the bathtub. He waited for it to fill up about halfway before sliding his briefs off and stepping in the water. The warm, borderline hot water immediately made his body start to relax as he sat down and let it surround him.  
  
The sound of footsteps came from just outside the bathroom door. The door creaked open again and Harry entered, his arms loaded with Draco’s bathroom bag, product bottles, soaps, and everything in between. He carefully set everything down on the floor by the bathtub before he sat on the ledge behind Draco. He kept his gaze firmly on Draco’s face.  
  
Draco then instructed his boyfriend to hand him several different bath salts, oils, scents, and bath bombs; he put so much in that the water he submerged himself in was a completely opaque pearly lavender color. Letting the water completely surround him was oddly relaxing. All sounds were muffled—not that there were very many to start with—and he could almost feel the weight he’d been carrying on his shoulders start to melt away. When he came back up for air, Harry was still sitting on the ledge of the bathtub, cross-legged. Only now he was holding Draco’s shampoo in his hands, an almost sheepish look on his face.  
  
“Can I?” Harry asked.  
  
A delicate, tender smile shone on Draco’s face. If he hadn’t been sopping wet—not to mention naked, though he wasn’t sure he minded that part very much—he might’ve wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and peppered kisses all over his face.  
  
Instead, he only turned around and leaned back on the bathtub wall as droplets of water ran down his face. Then he felt Harry pour a generous amount of the shampoo on his hair, his fingers slowly working it in. Almost immediately, Draco practically _moaned_ and leaned into Harry’s hands. His eyes fluttered closed as if of their own volition. He could feel his chest vibrating with something akin to a purr—but he’d never admit to that.  
  
Draco had never trusted _anyone_ to even come _near_ his hair, but from the beginning of their relationship, Harry had seemed to be an exception to the rule. Harry’s fingers were gentle and yet effective all at once.  
  
Shivers of bliss ran down Draco’s spine. Every nerve under his skin felt as if it had been lulled into some pleasurable trance. The soothing smell of lemons and lavender filled his senses, seeping into his skin and filling the air.  
  
All too soon, he felt Harry’s hands recede from his hair. He tapped on Draco’s shoulder, and he reluctantly immersed himself in the water again, rinsing the shampoo from his hair. Coming back up, he found Harry waiting for him with the bottle of Draco’s conditioner in his hands.  
  
Harry’s fingers gently smoothed the conditioner through his hair, combing out any knots. A different sort of ease came over Draco, more peaceful and soothing. Neither of them had said much, but Draco didn’t feel a need to. He just tilted his head back and leaned into his boyfriend’s hands.  
  
Then he noticed. The weight on his shoulders, the shadows that had writhed in his mind, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach… It had all _gone._ Draco felt lighter, in nearly every way possible. 

***

Driving safely was truly a feat for Harry when Draco was sitting right next to him. Especially with the way he traced shapes on Harry’s palm, the serene expression on his face, the slight dampness of his braided hair.  
  
The memories of his boyfriend from that morning swirled in his mind, a ruthless whirlpool of tears, shampoo, and Draco’s porcelain skin. Harry had had to keep a tight leash on his thoughts throughout the entire bathroom ordeal; he’d had to keep a balance between distracting Draco and helping him feel better.  
  
When Draco had finished, Harry had wrapped him in a soft, fluffy black towel and peppered kisses on his face, down his neck, and across his collarbones. After he’d dressed—in one of Harry’s smaller grey t-shirts he’d tucked into a pair of black skinny jeans—he’d asked Harry to braid his hair; he’d assiduously done two dutch braids, and Harry was proud to say that Draco looked absolutely captivating, even with the short hairs that refused to stay in the braids. His skin had lost the sallowness, the sharp lines of his face looked healthier, and his beloved hair was as shiny and silky as ever. The only thing that remained was the dark bags under his eyes. But Harry would be making sure that Draco slept that night.  
  
“Where are we going, Harry?”  
  
Rather than answering his boyfriend, Harry turned left and pulled into the parking lot of Joan of Art, one of the art supply stores he knew Draco liked. He practically heard Draco’s heart jump—and he definitely heard the excited squeal. Draco jumped out of the car immediately after it was parked, his smile wide and sparkling. Harry saw his grey eyes linger on all the bright colors of the storefront, the sweeping calligraphy and window marker drawings decorating the windows, the posters advertising different art exhibits months in advance.  
  
Quickly following him out, Harry locked the car behind him and then gripped Draco’s hand, walking with him inside. The inside of the store was even more colorful if a little disorganized. The whole place carried the aroma of incense, a sweet and flowery smell that Harry couldn’t say he didn’t like. It smelled like the early spring air that had surrounded them outside.  
  
A woman abruptly appeared from behind a shelf of canvases, no older than twenty, her curly red hair messily tied back in a high ponytail, a paint-splattered apron wrapped around her slender hips. There were a few smears of paint on her grey t-shirt and on her thin, pretty face. The nametag on her shirt read _Joan._ She smiled when she saw them, completely ignoring the few other customers.  
  
“Draco!” She exclaimed, rushing forward and pulling Draco into a quick hug. “I haven’t seen you walk through those doors in far too long!”  
  
“Joan, it’s nice to see you again,” Draco said, pulling away from her. His bright grin had only grown brighter. Harry had known that Draco knew the owner of the shop, but he didn’t think they were… _this_ close. A spark of possessiveness tried to take form in Harry’s chest, but he hastily stifled it. _Today is not the day for my shit,_ Harry chided himself.  
  
“This,” Draco said, taking Harry’s hand again, twining their fingers together, “is my boyfriend, Harry.”  
  
Joan turned her vibrant smile on Harry, looking him up and down. Harry offered her his hand, and after a second’s hesitation, she shook it.  
  
“It’s nice to meet you, Joan,” Harry said, plastering what he hoped was a convincingly pleasant smile on his face. It became less forced when she smiled back at him.  
  
“You too, Harry.” Joan turned back to Draco. “So, what brings you here after all these months? I was under the impression that you _wouldn’t_ be coming back for a while there.”  
  
Discomfort passed over Draco’s face, but it was gone so quickly that Harry _almost_ thought he imagined it. He gave his boyfriend’s hand a gentle reassuring squeeze.  
  
“I was just… exploring other options, I guess.”  
  
For a moment, Harry thought Joan was going to interrogate him further, but to his relief, her face softened and she finally seemed to accept his answer.  
  
“Well then, I’m glad you’re back.” She gestured to the entirety of the store. “Go look around, we’ve added a lot of new things since you’ve been here.”  
  
After Draco nodded at Joan, Harry followed him through all the different aisles, asking questions and holding everything Draco put in his arms. It got to the point where Harry had to go and get a basket, but he didn’t mind. It made Draco happy, so Harry was happy. The beaming smile on his face as he looked through different paints, pastels, and charcoals was more than enough to make Harry feel lighter than ever.  
  
He knew the moment that Draco realized who would be paying for everything he’d placed in Harry’s arms. His grin turned into an annoyed scowl, but luckily the light in his eyes didn’t diminish.  
  
“_Absolutely_ not.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re _not_ paying for all of this, Harry!”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because.” Draco stamped his foot. “You paid for our first date.”  
  
“What’s your point? You’ve paid for dates, too.”  
  
“Not like this!” Draco’s lips were turned down in a pout, which Harry found both adorable and endearing. “I’m not some stereotypical housewife you can just spoil.”  
  
“Alright, alright,” Harry surrendered, a sly, mischievous smirk on his face, “you can pay me back later. But just so we’re clear,” Harry leaned in close to teasingly brush his lips against the shell of his boyfriend’s ear, lightly nibbling his earlobe, “you would be the hottest housewife on the block.”  
  
Draco’s hand came up to fist the fabric of his t-shirt at his chest. Harry felt his boyfriend’s breathing speed up.  
  
But before Draco could take it any further, Harry pulled away and continued walking down the aisle toward a shelf of picture frames, pushing the cart in front of him. The irked groan that came from Draco behind him only made the devious smirk on his lips grow, light laughter shaking his shoulders.  
  
“You _tease._” 

***

Almost the entire back seat of Harry’s Camaro was filled with bags from Joan of Art, and the peaceful feeling blossoming in Draco’s chest was worth every penny he would be paying back. The warm spring air blew into the car through the open windows as Harry drove. One of his hands held Draco’s over the console—the same hand that Draco held to his lips, gingerly and leisurely kissing each of his fingers from knuckle to tip.  
  
This time, Draco had chosen where they were going—a small coffee shop that he, Pansy, Blaise, and Theo liked that wasn’t very far from Joan’s shop.  
  
Seeing her again was… an interesting experience, to say the least. He had always considered her a friend, but they weren’t particularly close. But with the way she had acted earlier, it was like they’d only grown closer in the time he’d been gone. It had been… a _little_ uncomfortable. Awkward, even. She was a nice person, and Draco genuinely liked her and had missed coming to her shop, but her hugging him and talking to her after so long… he was glad that Harry had been there to steady him.  
  
Harry’s fingers tightened on his own. Draco flicked his eyes up to see Harry staring at him—the car had stopped, the windows had been rolled up, they were parked in front of the coffee shop. Harry’s green eyes had darkened, so much they were nearly black. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. Draco tracked the movement, desire and need pooling in the pit of his stomach, overpowering every other feeling. His entire body itched to get closer to his boyfriend.  
  
Perhaps it was the way that Harry intently stared at him with those gorgeously vibrant green eyes, or how he dragged his thumb across Draco’s bottom lip—but either way, Draco couldn’t resist pushing himself up and slanting his mouth over Harry’s, capturing his lips in a fervent kiss. Harry instantly responded in kind, gently biting at Draco’s bottom lip, something that made him gasp in pleasure every time. Everything in him was washed over in a wave of bliss. When Harry’s tongue swept against his own, Draco couldn’t help the whimpering moaning noise that sounded in the back of his throat. The hand that had been encased in Harry’s came up to rake through his dark, fluffy hair.  
  
The next thing Draco knew, Harry had hauled him over the center console and onto his lap in the driver’s seat. Draco straddled Harry’s legs, trying to get as close to him as possible. He plunged his hands down the back of Harry’s shirt, felt the strong lines of his muscles and the ridges of his scars under his fingertips. He felt Harry tremble at his touch, shivers running through the both of them. Thrills of ecstasy and pleasure shot through Draco’s veins, going straight to his head, a dizzy haze dumping over him.  
  
Breathing was nearly impossible, his lungs stuttered and heaved. One of Harry’s hands gripped his hip so tightly, he was sure he would leave bruises behind—but Draco couldn’t care less, he wanted Harry to mark him, to leave reminders that he’d been there. His other hand plunged underneath Draco’s shirt, grazing up his sides and eliciting another high-pitched whine from Draco. Having Harry touch him, kiss him, _all_ of it—Draco loved every moment of it, craved him, wanted him in every way. It felt as though Harry’s hands were touching him everywhere at once, his heart was beating so fast he was sure it would burst from his ribs.  
  
Draco dragged his tongue over every inch of Harry’s mouth, inside and out, sucked on his tongue, nibbled at his bottom lip—all to extract that _incredibly_ arousing _moan_ from him, a sound that never failed to make Draco tremble with need. Kissing him was like coming up for air, like waking up, like being dunked in ice-cold water and yet still finding it refreshing. Harry’s fingers dipped beneath his jeans, trailing along Draco’s sensitive skin.  
  
Harry’s mouth shifted from Draco’s, moving down his cheek to his neck. He felt biting, sucking kisses placed there and Draco tilted his head back, reveling in every sensation, not caring about how heavy and loud his breathing was. The skin of his neck had always been overly sensitive and Harry always seemed to take full advantage.  
  
At an especially sharp nip, Draco whimpered and dug his fingers into the muscles of Harry’s back. His boyfriend only made a deep, nearly animalistic growling sound in the back of his throat and Draco felt him lick over the bite. He removed one of his hands from Harry’s back to wrap around the headrest, drawing himself closer and pressing Harry further into the seat. His entire body felt like he was on fire, he was burning, his heart was bursting.  
  
Then he felt Harry’s hand move from his hip to firmly grasp his denim-clad ass.  
  
Draco moaned louder than he ever had with Harry and felt him laugh against his neck, coming back up to caress Draco’s bottom lip with his tongue. Steaming red heat rose to stain Draco’s face, he was sure it was hot enough to burn, but he didn’t care. Looking at his boyfriend, Draco couldn’t help but think that Harry couldn’t get any more attractive than this—his lips bruised and swollen, raven hair mussed more than usual, his breathing heavy and off-kilter, his eyes darkened and focused intently on Draco’s. Harry was _gorgeous,_ and he was _his._  
  
Crashing their lips together, Draco couldn’t have cared less that he had become one of those teenagers who made out with their boyfriend in his car. Not as Harry’s tongue brushed against his own, or as he sucked Draco’s bottom lip in his mouth, or as his hand tightened on his ass.  
  
Until there was a loud, sharp knock on the driver’s side window.  
  
Scrambling, jolts of unfiltered shock jarring him, Draco leaned—fell—back on the steering wheel, yelping when the sound of the car’s horn startled him even further. The adrenaline that had already been flooding Draco’s entire body multiplied faster than he’d ever thought possible.  
  
Harry yanked him back towards him.  
  
“Oh my hell,” Harry said, loosening his grip on Draco.  
  
“What? Who is it?” Draco asked. He finally managed to convince himself to look out the window.  
  
And immediately regretted it. He felt his ears go hot, his neck and chest flushing red.  
  
“Oh. My._Hell._” Draco let his forehead fall onto Harry’s shoulder, trying to hide from who awaited them outside the car. “_Please_ kill me.”  
  
“Don’t worry, he’s walked in on worse.”  
  
“Was that supposed to make me feel better?” Draco pinched Harry’s bicep, smirking at his surprised yelp. “Because it doesn’t. And I can’t decide if I’m curious or disgusted.”  
  
“Definitely disgusted. I’m sure he’d _love_ to tell you all about it,” Harry laughed, “just for the sake of embarrassing both of us even more.”  
  
Because standing outside the car, with a roguish, laughing smirk on his face, was Sirius Black.  
  
Hearing the window roll down, Draco made himself as small as possible, hiding his face from Harry’s godfather.  
  
“Harry, my boy,” Sirius said, sounding a little uncomfortable and yet also amused, “I can’t say I expected to see you here. During school hours, no less.”  
  
One of Harry’s hands came to rest on Draco’s thigh, his thumb running up and down the inside of his leg in a slow, soothing rhythm. Somehow, Draco found the courage to slowly uncurl himself and lift his head to look at Sirius. He was sure that his face was still flushed bright red from his chest to his ears, but he found nothing but kindness and laughter in Sirius’ steely grey eyes. His black, wavy hair hung down to his shoulders, his eyes were wrinkled in the corners with how wide his grin was.  
  
“I could say the same about you, Sirius,” Harry quipped.  
  
“Alright, alright,” Sirius took a step back, looking over his shoulder to glance at another man approaching them. He was tall, thin, and had a thin face with sallow, pale skin and tired green eyes, greying brown hair, and a scar cutting across his left eyebrow. “You can meet us inside when you’re, um… ready.”  
  
With that, Sirius turned and walked into the shop, the other man he had glanced at following him inside.  
  
“Harry,” Draco said, swallowing past the lump in his throat and meeting Harry’s gaze, “please tell me we’re not actually going in there.”  
  
A small smile seemed to find its way onto Harry’s face. “I’m not going to make you do anything you’re not comfortable with, my love.” Harry lightly tugged on one of Draco’s braids. The smaller boy only settled further in his boyfriend’s lap and cupped Harry’s face in his hands, caressing his cheekbones with his thumbs. Overflowing fondness filled Draco’s heart, an uncontrolled wave of affection. “If you don’t feel comfortable going in there, we won’t go, and that’s okay, baby.”  
  
“Would you be okay with that?” Draco asked. He watched as Harry’s smile faltered for just a moment—but Draco knew that Harry would be okay with whatever choice he made.  
  
“Of course I’ll be okay with that.” Harry’s hand on Draco’s thigh resumed its soothing rubbing motions. “Whatever you want to do today, kitten, we’ll do it.” He leaned forward and softly pressed his lips to Draco’s, such a different sensation than a few minutes ago.  
  
Draco sighed heavily through his nose. _This is the least I can do for him,_ he thought, looking intently into his boyfriend’s eyes. _After everything he’s done for me today and yesterday, it’s not fair to him to make him cater to my every whim like this._  
  
“I suppose I can just get over myself and my embarrassment and face your godfather,” Draco drawled.  
  
Harry’s grin was beaming, even as he teased, “Are you saying that you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?”  
  
“Never.” Draco smiled, leaning forward to softly rub his nose against Harry’s. “Only when your godfather catches us making out in your car in a parking lot.”  
  
“If I were you, I think I would be a little more embarrassed about the hickey on my neck.”  
  
_“Harry!”_  
  
“What?” Harry asked, feigning innocence. “You’re the one who kissed me first, you know.”  
  
“Well...” Draco floundered for a second. “Well, you’re the one who was groping my ass!”  
  
“That may be so,” Harry said in a low voice, leaning closer, “but you’re the one who liked it.”  
  
“That doesn’t change the fact that I’m about to meet Sirius, and I have a hickey on my neck!”  
  
Harry only laughed and ran a finger down the line of Draco’s nose, easily making a soft smile appear on Draco’s mouth. _I can’t even get angry at him,_ he mused, _he’s too… Harry, for that._  
  
“Don’t worry, baby, I have a hoodie in the backseat that’ll cover it.”  
  
“Thanks,” Draco said. But just as Harry turned to grab the hoodie, he leaned in close to whisper in Harry’s ear, brushing his fingers against the pulse point at his neck. “And just so we’re clear, my love, I liked all of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... yeah. This wasn't really where I was going with this chapter? But it just sort of came out that way? Anyway, I hope you liked it. Comments are always welcome! I'm gonna need 'em to get me through these next few weeks <3<3<3


	18. Alright, Damsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though Harry wasn’t the same thirteen-year-old boy that he’d been when he first met Sirius, the feeling of complete safety in his arms had never faded. Though he wasn’t as naive and helpless as he had been, Sirius always embodied what Harry thought of as _home._ Sirius was a safe haven—he was family. He was the closest thing to a father Harry had ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo. This chapter is a week late. And I am deeply, incredibly sorry for that. It's also probably complete trash but like, oh well.   
So just as some useful information, I've been trying so hard to stick to my updating-every-two-weeks schedule, but now with everything that's been happening in my life, updates might be a little more off-schedule. I'm going to try as hard as I can to keep on top of everything, but there's so much going on that it's harder than ever.   
Anyway, enough of my boring complaining, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Harry was more than aware that leading Draco into the cafe could mean putting him through one of the biggest embarrassments of his life—but he trusted Sirius to take it easy on him. Especially since it would be the first time either of them met the other. And he trusted Remus to make Draco as comfortable as possible, and Harry hoped that he would help to at least reel his godfather in.  
  
Looking at Draco now, as they walked through the glass doors, Harry saw uncertainty and anxiety beneath the confident exterior he had plastered on his face. Harry squeezed his hand reassuringly as he spotted both Sirius and Remus. They both sat at a table in the corner by the window—Remus red-faced and clearly holding back laughter while Sirius waved them over as soon as he saw them.  
  
A stroke of apprehension swiftly wrapped around Harry’s heart like a clawed hand, each finger a fear that relentlessly dug into him. He knew, logically, that Sirius and Remus would like his boyfriend, and that Draco, in turn, would get along with them just fine. But the ‘what ifs’ of the situation nonetheless threatened to overpower Harry.  
  
But then he looked down at Draco, and those talons around his heart loosened. The smile on his blond boyfriend’s face had become somewhat more sincere, despite it being smaller.  
  
“Remus,” Harry greeted with a wide grin on his face, hugging the man after he stood up, “I think your kids have given you a few more grey hairs, mate.”  
  
Remus laughed and patted his back, squeezing his shoulder. “You have no idea, Harry.” Smiling, Harry then pulled away and was immediately tugged into a strong embrace from Sirius.  
  
Even though Harry wasn’t the same thirteen-year-old boy that he’d been when he first met Sirius, the feeling of complete safety in his arms had never faded. Though he wasn’t as naive and helpless as he had been, Sirius always embodied what Harry thought of as _home._ Sirius was a safe haven—he was family. He was the closest thing to a father Harry had ever had.  
  
(Even if he hadn’t been there for Harry’s first word, his first steps, or his first day of school, he’d been there for Harry the way no one else _ever_ had been. Sirius had _saved_ him. The first night Harry had spent at Grimmauld Place, Sirius had held him close and spoken in a soft, soothing, comforting voice when Harry had jolted awake screaming from nightmares—and he had done the same every night after.  
  
He’d been the one to convince Harry that therapy was a good idea. Despite Harry’s reluctance to go at first, Sirius had coaxed and encouraged him until, one night, Harry had broken down sobbing in his arms, and finally realized that he _needed_ this. To finally be able to tell someone. To be heard, after being silenced and broken for so long.  
  
Sirius had seen his inner turmoil. He’d gotten Harry a dog as a way to help cope, allowing him to name him—Snuffles, of all things—and take care of him as a way to take care of himself)  
  
His godfather nearly squeezed the breath out of Harry with how tightly he held him before reluctantly letting go. Sirius’ quicksilver eyes lingered on Harry for a moment but quickly turned to look at Draco, who Harry knew had been standing slightly behind him with an awkward air surrounding him.  
  
“You must be Draco.” Sirius teasingly shoved Harry out of the way and offered the boy his hand, a warm smile on his face. “My son here has told me a lot about you.”  
  
Draco shook his hand with a smile, answering with a steadfast, “Yes, sir.”  
  
Harry saw the laughter coming before it burst from Sirius’ mouth. “Just call me Sirius, please.” Letting go of Draco’s hand, the man looked back at Harry. “What nonsense have you been telling this poor boy that he thinks he needs to call me _‘sir’?_” Sirius shook his head with phony disappointment written across his face. “Really, Harry, it makes me feel old. You should know better.”  
  
Lifting one of his hands in surrender, Harry couldn’t help chuckling in return. “Nothing, I swear!” He gently grabbed Draco’s hand, twining their fingers together. “He’s just too polite for his own good.”  
  
The only response Draco gave before they all sat down at the table was a huff of indignation. Harry gave his fingers a gentle squeeze under the table, setting their entwined hands on his thigh and running his thumb up and down the side of Draco’s hand.  
  
A waitress came to their table and took their orders. Harry wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear Draco say that he didn’t want anything, but he also knew when his boyfriend was lying—and that he hadn’t eaten since the night before. Harry had tried getting him to eat that morning, but Draco had insisted he couldn’t. So, instead, Harry just ordered a large coffee and a blueberry muffin—he expected that Draco would start stealing his food any minute. And he was more than okay with that.  
  
“So, Harry, my _dearest_ son,” Sirius drawled, “as much as I love you, I must ask what you’re doing outside of Hogwarts. During school hours, no less.” His eyes, however, were crinkled in a fond smile, and Harry knew that he wasn’t in very much trouble.  
  
Hopefully.  
  
“Dray and I just had a long, rough night, last night.”  
  
Harry scowled at his godfather’s suggestively laughing smirk and Remus’ embarrassed eyes. “Not like that, you _arse!_”  
  
After a minute of scanning the two of them, Sirius’ grin wavered and his eyes flicked between Harry and Draco, a worried gleam in their grey depths. “Is everything alright?”  
  
Harry could hear all the questions wrapped up in that one concern: _Are you okay? Are the nightmares getting worse? Do you need a weekend at home? Do we need to schedule an emergency appointment?_  
  
A warm feeling blossomed in the pit of Harry’s stomach, spreading all the way to his fingertips. “Everything’s… okay. A little bumpy, but we’re okay.” Harry took this moment to look down at Draco. His eyes were downcast, his pink lips were pulled into a small frown, and his pert nose was slightly crinkled. A charged, tense air surrounded him.  
  
Sirius seemed to notice this as he nodded, quickly glancing over at Remus—who was intently typing away on his phone—before looking back at Draco.  
  
“So, Draco,” Sirius started, voice soft so as not to startle him, “tell me about yourself. Harry’s told me quite a bit, but I’d like to get to know my son’s boyfriend for myself.”  
  
Draco looked up, and immediately looked like he was at a loss for words, his face was flushing red. “Well, I… uh…” His hand clenched around Harry’s like a silent plea for help.  
  
“Draco’s an artist,” Harry blurted. “And a bloody _brilliant_ one, too.”  
  
The expression on Draco’s face when Harry looked at him was a medley of gratitude and quiet pain—Harry realized that talking about his art must remind him of the night before, of what his father had done.  
  
“Is that so?” Sirius asked, a new light in his eyes. Remus perked up at his curious tone, setting his phone down and finally tuning in to the conversation. “What mediums do you use?”  
  
“Um…” Harry saw some of Draco’s uneasiness start to melt away as he got talking, he was settling more comfortably in his chair, and the smile on his face practically shone. “Mostly just pencil and paper because they’re convenient, but I like using paint and other things when I can.”  
  
“I have pictures of some of his stuff.” Harry pulled his phone out and started scrolling through his photos, grinning to himself at all the ones that were of Draco. Draco smiling and laughing, Draco with surprised eyes and whipped cream on his nose, slightly annoyed Draco with his eyebrow arched sky-high. “It’s not nearly as good as seeing them in person, but they’re amazing.” Harry handed Sirius the phone. It didn’t take long for both he and Remus to develop awe-stricken smiles and wide eyes.  
  
From there, the time seemed to fly. Harry vaguely remembered Remus and Sirius asking Draco questions about different pictures they looked at, could scarcely recall his boyfriend answering them. He knew that at some point the conversation had shifted to Draco’s family, then to Harry’s sudden growth spurt—which Sirius had gotten quite worked up about, lamenting about how he and Harry agreed years ago that he would stop growing—until somehow they’d gotten to talking and laughing about Remus’ kids.  
  
Harry’s grin was practically invincible. Seeing Sirius, Remus, and Draco talk and laugh together was everything Harry never knew he wanted. Or _needed._ There was more than one moment that he wished Hermione had been there—she hated missing these kinds of things, and she and Remus got along like wildfire—but he was happy.  
  
“Wait,” Sirius said, closely examining a photo on Harry’s phone, “are these… _lily_ flowers?” When he looked up at Draco, there was an inquisitive yet analytical glint in Sirius’ eyes.  
  
“Yeah, they are,” Draco said, his voice soft and words slow. Quickly swallowing the last bit of the blueberry muffin he’d started picking at earlier, Draco met Sirius’ softened gaze. He gave Harry’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I started drawing those after Harry told me about his parents. There are others, ones that aren’t just pencil, but…”  
  
“I kept a few,” Harry admitted, “the ones I liked the most, I may have… slightly stolen them.” He felt no regret for taking them—he knew that most of the others had been kept in Draco’s sketchbooks. The same sketchbooks that were now nothing more than ashes in a fireplace.  
  
When Draco looked at Harry, his grey eyes were filled with relief and something that Harry could almost call wonder. The smile on his lips carried an insurmountable adoration, and Harry couldn’t help but lean down and quickly kiss him. And his cheek, his temple, his forehead. Meanwhile, he disentangled his hand from Draco’s and wrapped his arm around his shoulders, drawing Draco closer and using his other hand to hold Draco’s. The rose-petal blush that had risen to his cheeks was absolutely _adorable_ in every way.  
  
Sirius looked up from Harry’s phone and said, “These are… _amazing,_ Draco.” It was at that moment that Harry knew that his godfather practically adored his boyfriend. What with the awe in his eyes, and the clear approval of Remus’ nodding head, there was no way that either of them thought badly of Draco. “Have you thought about making a career out of this? Going to art school?”  
  
“I’ve looked into it,” Draco said. He leaned further into Harry, his bony shoulder pressing into the muscles of his chest. “It’s always been a dream of mine to go to art school. It's just that… Well, my father wants me to go to business school.” Draco’s smile transformed into a scowl, his nose wrinkling. “Not so much _‘wants’_, as much as he’s already planned my _entire_ future without considering that I _might_ want something different.”  
  
“Ah!” Sirius exclaimed, leaning his chair back like a teenager in a boring classroom. “A kindred spirit! My parents were the exact same way, Draco. My entire family, really. Believe me when I say that I understand how it feels. But,” Sirius stared intently at Draco, who clenched Harry’s hand, “I basically said screw it and did what _I_ felt was right. I’m _certain_ that our situations aren’t exactly alike. But I hope that you can find a way to do what you want to. For _yourself._”  
  
Harry felt Draco’s trembling breath against his chest, his thin shoulders moving against him.  
  
“I hope I do, too.”  
  
Following his every movement, Harry felt Draco’s head drop onto his shoulder, his chest rising and falling with deep, slow breaths. As the conversation slowly shifted, Harry pressed his lips to Draco’s hair and gently squeezed his shoulder, fiddling with his long, pale fingers.  
  
It was while Remus recounted a wild tale of Teddy trying to help bake cookies that Harry noticed how late it had gotten—the sun was beginning to set. Time had seemingly run away from them. Not to mention that Draco had become rather drowsy; Harry had noticed his fight to keep his eyes open. A fight he was losing badly.  
  
He’d been fast asleep on Harry’s shoulder for the past twenty minutes.  
  
“You weren’t kidding when you said it had been a rough night, were you?” Remus asked, gesturing to Draco’s peacefully slumbering form.  
  
“He’s been at his parent’s house for the past few days—it was his mother’s birthday yesterday.” Harry looked at both Sirius and Remus, giving them his _‘this is confidential’_ look. “Some pretty shitty stuff went down with his father, and he called me in the middle of the night because he needed me to pick him up. So, I hauled ass to get there, but by the time we got back to my dorm and fell asleep, it was probably around three in the morning.”  
  
Sympathy and concern shone on both Remus and Sirius’ faces. Their eyes took on that familiar gleam that screamed their shared worry.  
  
“Harry,” Sirius said, quietly enough so no one around them might overhear, “how are you, really? Any new developments with Ron?”  
  
A whirlwind of emotions—irritation, hurt, devastation, shame—all left Harry’s body in a long sigh through his nose. He slouched back onto his chair, carefully so as not to disturb Draco. “He… apologized to me. And Hermione. And I told him he needed to apologize to Draco. But… I don’t…”  
  
“You don’t think you can trust him to uphold it after what he did the last time,” Remus finished, taking a long drink of his coffee. Harry nodded and did the same, smiling to himself when he realized that Draco had already taken most of it.  
  
“That’s understandable,” Sirius admitted, “and it’s okay to feel that way. But I hope you’ll both keep an open mind for each other and try to fix your friendship. Even if he has been a complete jackass.”  
  
Though he knew Sirius was right, Harry couldn’t help but feel an intense sort of apprehension at even the thought. Not wanting to ruin his good mood, he instead focused on his surroundings, the warm atmosphere that had settled over the people he called family.  
  
Harry took in all the vibrant colors and hues of the sunset. He could easily imagine them on a canvas that Draco had painted, stained on his long, pale fingers and the old, ragged t-shirt he’d stolen from Harry to paint in.  
  
Looking down at him now, peaceful and sleeping and _beautiful,_ Harry felt an overwhelmingly vivid surge of love flow through every vein, every nerve in his body—of adoration and fondness and affection and infatuation and everything that made up pure, unadulterated _love._  
  
“Well,” Remus said, leisurely standing from his seat, “it’s getting late, Nymphie’s going to be home with the kids soon, and Harry, you and Draco need to get back to campus before curfew.”  
  
“The old man’s right.” Sirius smirked as Remus shoved him, just hard enough to nearly knock him over. “Tonks only lent Remus to me for the afternoon so she could go get her hair dyed and let the kids have a day at Andromeda’s. And Draco looks like he could use some sleep.”  
  
He knew they were right, but it didn’t make Harry any less disappointed that he had to leave.  
  
“Dray,” Harry reluctantly whispered in his boyfriend’s ear, gently shaking his shoulder, “Dray, baby, we’ve gotta get going, my love.”  
  
Where Harry had been expecting Draco to slowly awaken with fluttering eyes and his darling, tiny kitten yawns, Draco instead inhaled sharply and shot straight up in his chair, loudly proclaiming, _“I’m up, I’m awake!”_  
  
Heads whipped in their direction from all the other customers, giggling and smirking. Draco immediately covered his quickly-flushing face in his hands, groaning at himself. Trying to muffle the warm laughter bubbling up inside him, Harry leaned in and kissed his temple, lingering a moment while Sirius and Remus paid the bill.  
  
“Harry,” Draco whispered through his hands, “save me.” His grey eyes peeked out from his fingers, embarrassment writhing in their depths.  
  
The laughter pushed past his lips, just loud enough for Draco to hear and scowl at. “Alright, damsel,” Harry smirked, “Sirius and Remus are just heading outside, let’s go.” Gently, he interlocked his fingers with Draco’s and led him out into the slowly dying sunlight outside, smiling when the smaller boy pressed himself into Harry’s side and hid his face in his shoulder.  
  
Sirius and Remus had both waited for them next to Harry’s car with pleasant smiles on their faces.  
  
“It was lovely to meet you, Draco,” Remus said. He shook Draco’s hand that wasn’t encased in Harry’s with a warm smile. The slightly surprised but pleased glimmer in Draco’s eyes had Harry’s smile growing ever further.  
  
Sirius recounted the same sentiment, yet even to Harry’s bewilderment, he pulled Draco into a hug—loose enough to not be overbearing and short enough to not be completely awkward. When Sirius pulled back, he snorted in laughter at the dumbstruck expression on Draco’s face and patted his shoulder, effectively making the blush in his cheeks brighter and more prominent.  
  
Without the least bit of warning, Draco swiftly snatched Harry’s keys from his jeans pocket and said, “I’m just… I’m gonna wait in the car, okay?”  
  
Nodding, Harry kissed his forehead before Draco walked away. He understood that his boyfriend was probably feeling extremely drained. He needed a moment to breathe by himself, and Harry wouldn’t ever hold that against him.  
  
After Harry embraced both Remus and Sirius, the latter said in a soft tone, “I’m happy for you, Harry.” His grey eyes were light despite the growing darkness, pride and genuine happiness glowing behind them. “From what I’ve seen, I think that Draco is wonderful.”  
  
The grin that split Harry’s lips was impossibly big. “Yeah?”  
  
“Much better than anyone else I’ve met by far,” Sirius gloated. Harry couldn’t help but huff a slightly annoyed laugh and shove his shoulder. The snickers that came from both of them spoke of expired jokes and teasing that had lasted for months after Harry had gotten over the hurt.  
  
“Alright, you’d better be getting back to school.” A sort of melancholy wistfulness passed over Sirius’ eyes—the same melancholy wistfulness that clenched around Harry’s heart every time he had to say goodbye. Tugging him into another hug, Sirius said, “I’ll see you soon, okay? I love you, Harry.”  
  
Smiling, he answered, “I love you too.”  
  
Harry watched Sirius and Remus walk away as he opened the driver’s side door to his car and got in, hoping that he really _would_ see them again soon.  
  
“Well?” Draco asked suddenly from the passenger seat, pulling Harry’s attention to him, “Did they like me or not?” Anxious energy dripped off of him—he fiddled with his fingers in his lap, his grey eyes were wider than ever, his lips were pressed in a tight line.  
  
Gently grabbing Draco’s hands with both of his own, Harry leaned over the console and kissed Draco’s cheek, lingering for a moment and smiling against his soft, delicate skin. He whispered, “How could they _not,_ kitten?”  
  
“Really?” Grey eyes widened even further and pink lips parted in what Harry recognized as disbelief.  
  
“What’s not to love?” 

***

Draco was worried about Harry.  
  
His boyfriend had seemed fine, happy and content after they’d arrived back at school after the cafe fiasco. He’d walked Draco back to his dorm room and kissed him goodnight. Everything had seemed fine. More than fine, really.  
  
But for the past week afterward, Draco hadn’t gone a day without finding Harry down in the weight room with his punching bag after classes and football practices. There hadn’t been a single morning that Harry hadn’t been late to breakfast because he’d been out running around the campus for who knows how long. He had been quieter and more reserved than usual at lunch, only speaking when spoken to. Draco had questioned him about all these weird behaviors, but the only answer he received was that Harry was fine.  
  
Harry was most definitely _not_ fine.  
  
Hermione had noticed these same things about Harry, had asked the same questions, had received the same answers. But whenever Draco saw her looking at Harry, she always had the same analyzing glint in her dark eyes.  
  
The only plausible answer to Draco was the football game against the Koldovstoretz team that had happened three days ago—but Harry and his team had won that game, if only barely. It was over. It didn’t make any sense to him that Harry would still be anxious and working himself to the bone over it.  
  
Draco had already asked his boyfriend what was wrong, had already asked if he’d wanted to talk about it, but Harry had deflected and smoothly changed the course of conversation each time the matter was brought up. For all Harry’s insistence that he was fine, Draco was a little hesitant to press the issue. He didn’t want to cross a boundary that he had yet to find. He didn’t want to pressure Harry into talking if he wasn’t ready.  
  
But that didn’t stop him from worrying ever further as he walked into the weight room, not the slightest bit surprised to find Harry—dressed only in a pair of basketball shorts—demolishing the punching bag in the farthest corner of the room. Muscles rippled and shifted under the scarred brown skin of his back, his legs, his arms, everywhere. Sweat gleamed and dripped down his body.  
  
However, despite feeling _incredibly_ attracted to Harry at that moment, the fire inside was smothered by the exhaustion in Harry’s green eyes. Draco saw the endurance of Harry’s muscles slowly wavering as they trembled almost imperceptibly with each powerful movement. The growing dark circles under his eyes. The absence in his gaze, the downward set of his mouth, the clenched bones in his defined jaw, the labored breaths warning him that he couldn’t go on like this forever.  
  
And yet, despite all of it, Harry continued to punch, kick, and knee the bag as fast and forceful as ever.  
  
Classes had ended hours ago. Draco knew that Harry had gone to practice immediately after the bell had rung, probably worked himself harder than every one of his teammates, and still, he’d come here and continued to wreck himself.  
  
“It’s a bit late, don’t you think?” Draco called, stalking toward Harry with determination boiling in his veins. _You can’t go on like this,_ Draco thought, _you’re going to hurt yourself, you asshat._  
  
The sound of Harry’s fists hitting the bag didn’t relent. Figuring that he wouldn’t get anywhere being angry with Harry, Draco tried with everything in himself to calm the furious flames inside him. This had gone on far too long for his taste. He was done waiting for Harry to come to him.  
  
“Harry,” Draco pleaded, now standing just behind the bigger boy, “stop and look at me, please.”  
  
That seemed to finally reach Harry. Hitting the bag one last time, softer than the others, his hands dropped to his sides. His broad shoulders heaved with labored breaths as he ran a cloth-wrapped hand through his hair and down his face as he turned to look at Draco.  
  
The drained expression in his eyes only added to Draco’s worries.  
  
“Sweetheart, please—” Draco took Harry’s hands, gently unwrapping the elastic cloth around them, “please tell me what’s been eating at you. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”  
  
Some glimmer of light returned to Harry’s eyes. It was like a fog had cleared, or a haze he’d finally seen through. A sense of relief poured through Draco when he felt Harry’s fingers twine with his own.  
  
However, when he heard the heavy sigh through Harry’s nose, Draco knew he wouldn’t be getting the answers he wanted right then.  
  
“I’m fine.” Though his tone was gentle along with how he disentangled his fingers, Draco saw the stifled irritation in the jerky movement that Harry made to grab his gym bag. “I need a shower.”  
  
With that, he made his way to the adjacent locker room. Draco followed, not giving up just yet. He watched as Harry opened his locker and dropped his bag on the bench before stepping into one of the shower stalls. Almost immediately, steam started pouring out of the stall from the rushing water, carrying the scent of vanilla and grapefruit.  
  
Draco slumped onto the bench beside Harry’s bag, letting his head fall into his hands. _I don’t know what to do,_ he thought, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck. _What am I supposed to do if he won’t tell me what’s going on? How am I supposed to fix it if I don’t know what the problem is?_ A thread of hopelessness stitched in his chest, making his heart ache.  
  
He stayed like that until he heard the water shut off and Harry stepped out. He set his chin on his hands and watched his boyfriend—clad only in a towel slung low on his hips—walk toward him.  
  
On a sudden impulse, without a second thought, Draco reached out and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, drawing him close and nuzzling his face in Harry’s muscled stomach. Draco held him tightly, the smell of vanilla and grapefruit overpowering his senses. The feel of Harry’s damp, smooth skin only made him hold tighter.  
  
After a second’s hesitation, he felt Harry’s fingers card through his hair. The soothing sensation eased the ache in his chest, if only by a little.  
  
“Harry,” Draco whispered into his skin, “please just… Just tell me what to do, Harry.” He dug his fingers into Harry’s skin, trying to repress the pressure building behind his closed eyes. “I don’t know how to make this better, Harry. I don’t know what to do.” Draco’s shoulders trembled, but he refused to let himself fall apart completely when his intention had been to help _Harry,_ not himself.  
  
Gently, Harry removed Draco’s arms and turned to his locker, leaving Draco slightly puzzled for a moment. Then Harry quickly pulled on his briefs under the towel he wore before whisking it off and sitting on the bench next to Draco.  
  
With a heavy sigh, Harry turned to face Draco, now straddling the bench. Draco copied the movement. Some deep sort of compassion washed through him when Harry moved closer and hunched over until his forehead lay on Draco’s shoulder, his hands settling on his thighs.  
  
Draco immediately started combing Harry’s hair back with one hand while the other ran up and down his back. He’d needed this. He knew that Harry had needed it, too. The closeness, the subtle intimacy of just _being_ together.  
  
“It’s nightmares,” Harry muttered. His hands moved to wrap around Draco’s waist, drawing him closer. “They’ve been bad for the past few days. I just thought that if… If I just exhausted myself during the day, I wouldn’t have any dreams at all.” Harry’s fingers tightened on Draco’s light sweater. He shifted his head so his face was buried in the crook of Draco’s neck, his warm breath fanning over Draco’s skin.  
  
A sympathetic frown pulled at Draco’s trembling lips. Hugging Harry tighter to his body, Draco felt his heart clench in his chest. He tried so hard to keep the accusing tone and disappointment out of his voice when he spoke, refusing to make anything worse than it already was.  
  
“Sweetheart, why didn’t you _tell_ me?” Pausing his perusal of Harry’s hair, Draco cupped Harry’s face and drew him up to look at him. He traced the shape of Harry’s lips with his thumb, the other caressing his cheekbone.  
  
“I don’t know, I just…” The shattered look in Harry’s eyes made Draco’s lungs stutter. An influx of something sorrowful and relieved and painful surged inside of him. It filled his veins and buried deep in his bones, like needles poking into his skin.  
  
Looking deep into Harry’s beautiful green eyes, finding a vulnerable spark inside, Draco said, “Harry Potter, I _love_ you. I am _so_ in love with you.” Tracing the lines of Harry’s face with his pale fingers, Draco drew him even closer. “I need you to know that when you don’t feel safe, when you feel out of control or afraid or _anything,_ I’m always _here_ for you. You don’t have to be strong all the time, or put up a front to cover up what you’re feeling.”  
  
Draco took a deep breath, relishing Harry’s scent. “But this… It isn’t healthy, Harry. Pushing yourself so hard, overworking yourself… You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep going on like this. So, please, don’t.”  
  
Harry nodded, turning his face so his lips pressed into Draco’s palm. His brows were drawn together, his eyes shut tightly. His hand came up to hold Draco’s against his lips, while Draco’s other hand started running through his dark hair.  
  
They stayed like that for what felt like hours—just sitting together in the silence of the locker room. But despite the warmth that had blossomed throughout Draco’s entire body, he couldn’t ignore the niggling feeling in the back of his mind that told him that there was something more—something that Harry hadn’t told him yet.  
  
But he couldn’t stand to ruin the moment by pushing Harry even further. He was satisfied for now.  
  
“I think curfew is in about half an hour, love,” Draco said. His soft words seemed too loud for the peaceful quiet that had settled over them, but he didn’t want to risk either of them getting detention. They’d been lucky so far, but the thought of that night Harry had gotten caught by Snape made taking the chance hard.  
  
“You’re probably right,” Harry sighed. Slowly, reluctantly, he moved out of Draco’s grasp to pull on the rest of his clothes—a loose-fitting tank top and basketball shorts.  
  
When he’d finished, Harry gently gripped Draco’s fingers and led him out of the locker room. They walked in comfortable silence all the way to the southern common room. Draco was loath to leave the warmth that Harry embodied, but he knew that he had to if Harry were to get to his own common room in time.  
  
“Harry,” Draco said, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s shoulders, “promise me you’ll be on time to breakfast tomorrow.”  
  
There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in his voice when Harry responded, “I promise.”  
  
With a small smile, Draco stretched up to kiss him, bringing Harry’s head down to meet him in the middle. Though it was short and sweet, any amount of Harry always brought a smile to Draco’s lips—the same smile he wore as he disentangled himself and walked back into his common room, wishing he could bring Harry with him. 

Boredom rolled over Draco in unrelenting waves as he listened to Professor Binns drone on about whatever it was he’d been lecturing about for the past hour. He hadn’t cared enough to pay attention to any of it. Hopefully, Draco could get notes from Hermione before he had this class again.  
  
His mind wandered to that morning, where, true to his word, Harry had shown up to breakfast on time. However, his eyes had been shadowed like he hadn’t slept much the night before. He’d spent nearly the entire meal hunched over with his chin on Draco’s shoulder and his arms wrapped around the blond boy’s waist, hardly eating anything at all.  
  
Finally, the bell rang for class to end, and Draco practically sang his gratitude for it being the last period of the day.  
  
“Draco!” Pansy hissed, suddenly appearing at his side, seemingly from thin air. She hooked her arm through Draco’s, steering him in the direction of their common room—where he had already been heading.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I need to talk to you.”  
  
“About?”  
  
Pansy’s purple lips were pursed in a thin line. The apprehension in her gaze caused Draco’s brows to rise as he stared at her, waiting for an answer. One that didn’t come until they were safely seated on a couch in the southern common room. Theo and Blaise were already there among the other students milling about, almost as if they’d been waiting for them.  
  
“Well?” Draco asked from beside her. Theo and Blaise wore matching expressions, waiting for an explanation.  
  
“I found out Terry’s been cheating on me.”  
  
Though her words were quiet, there was a fierce, cutting anger lacing them.  
  
Theo’s reaction was immediate. His face hardened to stone, every muscle in his body tensed, the scowl adorning his face foretold of violence. A guttural, animalistic sound that Draco would almost call growling came from his throat.  
  
Blaise and Draco were less extreme, scooting closer to Pansy and looking at her with sympathy swirling in their eyes. Although Draco had no idea how to empathize with her, had no idea how it must feel, he wrapped his arms around Pansy and cradled her head against his shoulder. She made no effort to move away or to move further into him. She simply stared unblinking at her hands in her lap.  
  
“How long?”  
  
Pansy looked up sharply, almost hitting Draco’s jaw.  
  
“How long?” Theo repeated, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes practically glowed red with all the anger that raged in their depths. He knelt in front of her, his hands clenched into tight fists.  
  
“A few weeks, I think,” Pansy muttered.  
  
The instant that Theo stood up, looking menacing and ready for a fight, Pansy reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could even take a step.  
  
“Save it for another day, Theo,” Pansy said, drawing him onto the couch to sit beside Draco, “when you have some actual backup. Besides, I already broke his nose. It’d be cruel to let you at him already.”  
  
Blaise sighed from her other side, blatantly glaring at Theo’s sharp smirk before turning back to Pansy with sad eyes. “How did you find out?”  
  
The four of them sat in silence for a while, waiting for Pansy to gather her wits enough to say _something._ Draco didn’t know how long it was, but he didn’t mind. Pansy needed him, needed _all_ of them, and he’d give her all the time she needed to find the right words.  
  
Finally, Pansy took a deep breath and began, “Well…”  
  
It was during Pansy’s long, bitter retelling of the rumors she’d heard and walking in on Terry and Cho Chang—Draco wondered why it always had to be _her_—in an empty corridor that every single light in the common room flickered out, leaving the room nearly pitch black. With the common room being on one of the basement levels, there were no windows to offer any light.  
  
Pansy’s words skidded to a stop. All sounds were drowned out by the startled screams around them. Luckily, a few level-headed students, Blaise and Draco included, quickly rushed to their dorms to grab flashlights.  
  
Returning as fast as possible, Draco set his light on the couch before wrapping himself around Pansy again.  
  
“It’s weird,” Blaise commented, “Hogwarts hasn’t had a blackout in _years._”  
  
“Perfect timing,” Pansy snarked. She picked up her story where she had left off, but before she got very far, the common room door burst open.  
  
And there stood the last thing Draco had expected to see: Ron Weasley, panting like he’d been running and holding a flashlight.  
  
“Draco!” He shouted, shifting the focus of his light around the room until he finally saw who he was looking for. He started making his way through the room, weaving between frightened students to get to Draco.  
  
Immediately, Draco straightened and untangled himself from his friends, confusion taking over. _What the hell is_ he _doing here?_ He thought.  
  
When Ron stood in front of him, breathless and panicked, Draco felt a thread of worry work itself through him.  
  
“It’s Harry.”  
  
Draco’s heart stopped. Everything stopped. Frozen. Fear—pure, overpowering fear, froze every muscle in Draco’s body. Every bone, every tendon, every ligament was stilled.  
  
“What about Harry?” Theo asked from behind him. There was a prevalent sort of worry in his voice, making his words tremble.  
  
“Something’s wrong with him, and Hermione sent me to come get Draco,” Ron replied, looking more urgent and panicked by the second.  
  
The lungs in Draco’s chest were suddenly working double-time, his breaths coming in so fast that his head felt slightly dizzy. Somehow he managed to look over at Pansy as if asking for her permission to go. She nodded and waved him away like she would to shoo a bug.  
  
By some miracle, Draco forced his limbs to move and ran after Ron, who had already taken off, only able to see because of the redhead’s flashlight. The only coherent thought in his head was _Harry._  
  
Time seemed to slow. Draco’s limbs all felt like lead even as he pushed them to go faster, to get him to Harry as fast as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a little guilty for that cliff-hanger. But also not really. Comments always make my day, so leave them!!! I love hearing from you guys! <3<3<3   
Also, just as a little friendly reminder that you've probably already heard far too many times, make sure to practice social distancing and wash your hands!! Remaining optimistic is hard, but we can make it through this together!


	19. Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know it’s dark right now, I’m sure the fire alarms scared you, but you’re okay. Just breathe with me, alright? You’re safe, I promise, sunshine.”  
  
Draco finally felt Harry’s chest movements begin to slow. Though it was still too shallow and fast to be considered calming, Draco would take what successes he could.  
  
“I…” Harry started, his voice rough and so low that only Draco could hear, “like… that one.”  
  
Relief crashed over Draco in an unrelenting wave, like a tsunami beating over him. It wriggled into his bones and washed over his every nerve, finally allowing him to somewhat relax. His grip on Harry didn’t loosen, though. If anything, he held the other boy even tighter. Pressing his lips to Harry’s neck, under his ear, to his shoulder, he finally let himself smile.  
  
“Sunshine? Really?” Draco asked, allowing his amusement to sneak into his soft words. “_That’s_ what does it for you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dearest readers, it has now officially been a month since I last updated. *please don't hate me* With this quarantine and so much else going on, both my mental and physical health have been declining. But! I'm not giving up. I'm so sorry that this chapter is so extremely late, especially after that cliffhanger y'all went crazy over. I hope you like this chapter, even though it's pretty much trash.  
TW: Descriptions of a panic/anxiety attack

Heaving breaths echoed off the stone walls of the corridor. Rapid footsteps slapped down on the stone floor. Everything seemed to be made of stone—Draco’s limbs included as he forced his legs to go faster, pushing as he’d never pushed before. The imposing darkness suffocated each struggling breath that tried to make its way to Draco’s lungs.  
  
Draco’s mind felt as though he’d left it behind in his common room, still trying to process that there was something _so wrong_ with Harry that Hermione had sent for him.  
  
Unparalleled fear twined with adrenaline jolted through Draco’s veins. It reached down to every nerve ending in his entire body. It made his heart throb and his lungs battle for breath. Draco pushed his legs to go faster, fast enough that he passed ahead of Ronald.  
  
He knew the way to Harry’s common room well enough by now that he knew he could run his way there without light. That is, until he slipped up the last staircase when a loud, shrill alarm sounded through the air—fire alarms. He barely caught himself at the last second. It hadn’t even registered with him that he’d fallen until he was already up and running again, trying to block out the ear-splitting, piercing alarms.  
  
There was no way in _hell_ he’d let something as simple and humiliating as _stairs_ stop him. Harry needed him. Whatever it was, Draco would’ve run across burning hot coals and a bed of nails to get to him.  
  
After clearing the stairs and dashing down the corridor, Draco came to a skidding halt at the door to the northern common room. The fire alarm had miraculously stopped its shrieking calls.  
  
Everything crashed into him all at once as he stared at what he sincerely hoped was the right door. Leaning over with his hands on his knees, Draco’s mind reeled, trying to pull himself together. The only sound he could hear was the pounding of his heart, the blood rushing in his ears. Every thought jumbled in his head until they were completely incoherent.  
  
And yet it all boiled down to the same thing: _What am I going to find behind that door?_  
  
“What the _bloody hell_ are you waiting for?” It seemed that Ronald had finally caught up to him, the bright white light of his flashlight flooding the hall as he ran. Though he resented the way the light made his eyes sting, Draco knew that Ronald had a point.  
  
For _once._  
  
There was no real reason for Draco to hesitate like this. He should have already busted down the door and demanded to know where Harry was from the first person he saw.  
  
But fear… It was a powerful thing. It coursed through Draco’s entire body, holding his legs as if they were stuck in wet cement. He felt himself drowning in it. Fear for Harry, fear for what might have happened. Fear of seeing what lay behind that door.  
  
_No,_ Draco screamed at himself, _no, no, no, no, no._  
  
With some miraculous surge of strength, Draco forced himself to open the door. Darkness greeted him—the sun having set minutes ago—along with the frightened mumbling of the people in the common room, a few of them holding flashlights. Wading through the crowd, Draco heard the telltale sounds of muffled cries. 

***

It was dark. It was dark, and Harry didn’t know why. Panic began to set in. His heart started racing, his breathing labored. He could have sworn that two seconds ago, he’d been with Hermione in the common room. They’d been fine, talking quietly in the corner. He’d been working up to telling her what had been pressing on his mind, working up the courage to take down that first stone in the dam that he’d built to hold everything back.  
  
But then it went dark.  
  
Just like how that cupboard under the stairs was dark—especially when Vernon shoved him in it as punishment.  
  
_No,_ Harry panicked, _no, I’m not back there. I can’t be. I’m not back there I’m not back there I’mnotbackthereI’mnotI’mnotIcan’t—_  
  
An exploding pain ruptured in Harry’s chest. His lungs weren’t working. He couldn’t breathe. His vision blurred and he swore he could hear Hermione talking to him, to someone, but it was all too muffled to make anything out.  
  
Until a screeching, piercing noise cut through the fog.  
  
It sounded eerily like Vernon yelling, _screaming_ at him through the grate on the cupboard door.  
  
Clutching at his chest, Harry slumped to the floor where he’d been standing, desperately trying to blink away the black spots dancing around his hazy vision. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t stand, he _couldn’t—_  
  
He was drowning in the darkness. 

***

Draco bolted, shoving other students out of his way without remorse. At the moment, he couldn’t care less about any of them. He just needed to get to Harry. After searching aimlessly for what was probably too long to be rational, Draco had to reel himself back in and think logically.  
  
_“Where is he?”_ he snapped at Ronald, who had been a step behind him, nearly bumping into him when Draco stopped.  
  
To his own credit, Ronald didn’t flinch when he met the fiery, blazing determination in Draco’s eyes. “They were in that corner,” Ronald said, gesturing across the room, where the shadows seemed to be thickest.  
  
Maybe that was just his fear talking.  
  
Draco shoved down the apprehension he felt before weaving his way through the murmuring crowd. With how little information Ronald had given him, his imagination had run wild. Images of blood and broken bones, perhaps a fight that had gone wrong, ran rampant through his mind.  
  
When he finally found Harry, the first thing he noticed was the lack of blood and gore—which brought him an immense amount of relief. The second was why Ronald had said “them” instead of “he”.  
  
Harry was crumpled on the floor, one hand clutching his chest while the other was fisted tightly in his hair. Hermione sat behind him, pressed to his back with her legs on either side of him, hugging him tightly and using her long sleeve to wipe away the sweat beading on Harry’s forehead while whispering in his ear.  
  
The gasping breaths that came from Harry’s mouth were panicked and laborious. When Draco crouched in front of him, he was met with Harry’s tightly shut eyes and clenched jaw. Tears were trailing down his face.  
  
“Harry,” Hermione was whispering, glancing at Draco’s scared eyes, “I need you to take deep, even breaths, love, or you’re going to get a nose bleed.”  
  
“Hermione, what’s going on?” Draco asked, trying his best to ignore Ronald’s presence looming over his shoulder and keep his internal screaming in check. Even he could hear the fear and anxiety threaded in his words. Seeing Harry like this… Draco didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what this was, didn’t know what was happening to him, any of it.  
  
“Draco, you need to stay calm,” Hermione said. Her black eyes flitted between him and Harry, who had let out a terrified whimper. Draco’s heart squeezed and his entire body ached to touch him, but he didn’t know if that was okay. “If you can’t stay calm, I’ll need you to leave. Right now, Harry can feel all the panicked and frightened energy in the room, and he can’t tell the difference between it and his own.”  
  
The sternness in her gaze immediately commanded Draco’s compliance. “Promise me that you’ll stay calm.”  
  
Draco felt her words sink into his skin. This was what it meant to love Harry—he had to have control over himself when Harry needed him. He needed to be the strong one sometimes.  
  
And he could. He could be strong for Harry. After everything, Draco would gladly be strong for the boy who had stuck with him. For the boy who loved him, the boy who’d listened and taken care of him, the boy who hadn’t hesitated to rescue him. Draco would be strong for him.  
  
“I promise.”  
  
An abrupt pained groan escaped Harry’s lips. Every muscle lining his body tensed even farther, so taut that Draco was afraid they might rip apart. Immediately, Hermione leaned back into Harry so that her lips were practically pressed against his ear, whispering words under her breath to him in the darkness of the room.  
  
“Tell me what to do, Hermione.” Draco was again struck by Ronald’s closeness, but decided that shoving him away would probably lead to some unwanted consequences in the near future. “Tell me what’s going on.”  
  
“It’s… the doctors have told him that it’s most likely a cross between a panic and anxiety attack, but they’re not really sure,” Hermione explained. Draco recalled Harry mentioning in passing that he’d had panic attacks before, but he hadn’t ever imagined anything like this. “They don’t usually last much longer, but nothing we’ve done before is helping. It’s like he can’t hear me.”  
  
“Shouldn’t we move him somewhere quiet?” Draco asked. Slowly reaching forward, he placed his hand over the one Harry had fisted in his hair, gently trying to disentangle his fingers. He winced at the fearful whine that came from Harry’s lips. “Or with some light?”  
  
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Hermione quipped, “but the power is out, and I couldn’t exactly lift Harry by myself when he weighs _twice_ as much as I do.”  
  
Sighing, knowing she was right, Draco was finally able to pry Harry’s fingers from his hair, instead twining their fingers together and softly squeezing. Harry gripped Draco’s fingers with iron strength. His eyes shot open, blown wide. Even in the darkness, Draco could tell that Harry wasn’t really seeing him. He wasn’t seeing much of _anything._  
  
“I need your help getting him to his dorm.” Hermione shifted her body as she spoke, pulling away from Harry’s back, flinching at how his breathing quickened. “It’ll be quieter there, and maybe lighter if we can get enough lanterns.” Both she and Draco moved to either side of Harry, taking his arms and settling them over their shoulders. With some struggle, they managed to help Harry stand. To Draco’s surprise, it felt as though his boyfriend was managing to hold most of his own weight.  
  
Though it was completely inappropriate at the time, Draco couldn’t help but feel amused at how dwarfed Hermione was by Harry. Her head came to just below his shoulder, now barely more than a foot shorter than him.  
  
“What about me?”  
  
Hermione and Draco both turned over their shoulders to squint at Ronald through the darkness, aided by the light from his flashlight. Practically twiddling his thumbs, the boy looked so very helpless—Draco almost felt bad for him.  
  
Almost.  
  
However, the moment that Draco felt Harry’s fingers clench around his shoulder and saw his eyes once again shut tightly, all empathy for Ronald was instantly replaced with worry for his boyfriend.  
  
Though he was sure he’d regret it later, Draco turned and snapped with quiet fire in his voice, “Well don’t just _stand there_ like an idiot! _You’re_ the one with the flashlight, go in front of us so we can see where we’re going.”  
  
Despite the obvious exasperation in Draco’s voice, Ronald did as he was told, and Draco and Hermione were able to stagger with Harry to and up the staircase. There had been more than one instance in which Hermione almost missed a step, where Draco had stumbled, where Ronald had dropped his flashlight, but they were eventually able to get Harry to his bed.  
  
He immediately curled into himself, his body stuttering with his quick and uneven breaths. The muscles that lay under Harry’s skin were still unbelievably taut. His hand clutched at his chest. And yet, Draco could feel that he was less panicked than he had been before, without the collective panicked energy from the common room.  
  
“Draco, I need to call Sirius,” Hermione said, crouching in front of Harry, “I need you to hold him tightly from behind, just like how I was.”  
  
Without question, Draco did as he was told. He slid onto the bed behind Harry, wrapping himself around his boyfriend as Hermione had. He felt Harry’s rapid heartbeat through his back, felt his lungs struggling for breath, his warmth seeping into Draco’s skin. Draco held onto him as tightly as possible, nuzzling his face into the juncture of Harry’s neck and shoulder.  
  
There was a sudden pang in Draco’s chest—like it was just settling in that _this_ was what Harry had to endure. This was his _life._ He could easily be bitter. He could easily be hateful and cold and cruel. And yet, he chose to fight to be the person he was—kind and happy and caring and strong and loving and everything that made up _Harry._ The tears pressing behind Draco’s eyes only made him hold Harry even tighter to his chest.  
  
“Damn it, Sirius, _pick up!_” Hermione exclaimed though she was careful not to be too loud. Draco shifted his head so he could look at her over Harry’s shoulder. Her hand was buried in her dark curls, the entirety of her small frame was tensed. Her black eyes flicked to Draco, then she said, “Try talking to him, whispering to him. It’s soothing to hear someone else’s voice other than the one in his head.”  
  
Nodding, Draco moved so that his mouth was close to Harry’s ear. But before he could start speaking, he spied Ronald staring at him with a wary gleam in his eyes. Though the flashlight was still the only source of light, Draco hoped the boy saw the contemptuous glare he sent him before returning his full attention to the trembling boy in his arms.  
  
“Harry,” he whispered, “can you hear me? It’s Draco, sweetheart.” Draco licked his lips before continuing. “You’re safe, my love. You’re in your dorm room, with me and Hermione. I love you so much, Harry. I need you to take deep breaths, just like I am, okay? Deep, even breaths.” Pausing, Draco moved one of his hands so it covered Harry’s, the one grasping at his chest. “I know it’s dark right now, I’m sure the fire alarms scared you, but you’re okay. Just breathe with me, alright? You’re safe, I promise, sunshine.”  
  
Draco finally felt Harry’s chest movements begin to slow. Though it was still too shallow and fast to be considered calming, Draco would take what successes he could.  
  
“I…” Harry started, his voice rough and so low that only Draco could hear, “like… that one.”  
  
Relief crashed over Draco in an unrelenting wave, like a tsunami beating over him. It wriggled into his bones and washed over his every nerve, finally allowing him to somewhat relax. His grip on Harry didn’t loosen, though. If anything, he held the other boy even tighter. Pressing his lips to Harry’s neck, under his ear, to his shoulder, he finally let himself smile.  
  
“Sunshine? Really?” Draco asked, allowing his amusement to sneak into his soft words. “_That’s_ what does it for you?” 

***

There had been voices. Harry hadn’t been able to make out the words, or who they belonged to, but the voices had started to break through the darkness he’d been drowning in. The fear hadn’t left him, but Harry could feel its grip subsiding.  
  
He’d felt so disconnected from his body that when he felt his arms move, he hadn’t registered that someone was making him stand until they’d managed to get his feet on the ground. Feelings had slowly trickled in until the awareness of his body finally clicked and he was able to manage most of his own weight.  
  
But the voices hadn’t come through until he stopped moving. Once he felt himself be lowered—onto something soft, a bed maybe?—his body moved without his consent, curling in on himself. Maybe if he made himself smaller, the fear would ignore him. Maybe if he took up less space, his heart would stop beating up his ribs. Maybe his lungs would start remembering how to breathe.  
  
Then there was a sudden pressure against his back. It wasn’t warm like the last one had been. It was chilled, like being dunked in ice water. Harry felt a piece of himself snap back into place when the new voice began whispering to him.  
  
“...but you’re okay. Just breathe with me, alright? You’re safe, I promise, sunshine.”  
  
Draco. It was Draco holding him, Draco talking to him. Then Harry heard Hermione’s voice, farther away but still there. It didn’t sound like anyone was talking back to her, though. _She must be on the phone. Sirius, maybe?_  
  
If both Draco and Hermione were with him, then there was no way he wasn’t safe. It wasn’t just feeling unsafe that kept his hand gripping his chest or curled into himself, but the sooner he could start swimming through the fear, the sooner he would breathe air again.  
  
“I…” Harry had to push the words through his lips, faint as they were, “like… that one.”  
  
Draco’s arms tightened around Harry like he was assuring that yes, he really was there. Soft lips pressed against Harry’s skin, soothing and delicate kisses on his neck, his shoulder, under his ear.  
  
“Sunshine? Really? _That’s_ what does it for you?” Draco’s hand squeezed his own, the other coming up to comb through Harry’s hair. If he thought his lungs would cooperate, Harry might’ve laughed. The most he managed was a pathetic huff, his lips twitching upwards.  
  
Peeling his eyes open, Harry first saw Hermione pacing in the center of the room, her cellphone to her ear. He couldn’t make out anything she was saying, but he couldn’t care enough to strain his ears to hear. Scanning the room, he spotted Ron sitting on his own bed, hunched over and staring at his hands. He briefly wondered why he was there but didn’t let himself linger on it.  
  
Especially after Ron stood suddenly and walked out. There wasn’t much he could do, much he _wanted_ to do, to stop him from leaving. It was what it was. For now. At least he left the flashlight.  
  
Then he noticed the pain in his chest slowly fading, his heartbeat calming, his muscles going limp. Harry let himself lean completely back into Draco’s chest. The boy behind him nuzzled his face into Harry’s neck, supporting his weight. Harry tried to mimic the deep breaths he felt from Draco’s chest.  
  
The exhaustion that weighed on him wasn’t just physical. Everything inside of him—his mind, his emotions, whatever it was—felt completely drained. Nearly numb. These attacks were nothing new to Harry, but he knew that this one had lasted longer than most of the others. This one had hit differently. His eyes fluttered closed, his breaths finally in time with Draco’s.  
  
“Harry?” came Hermione’s voice, somewhere above him. “I have Sirius on the phone, I’m just going to put him on speaker, okay?”  
  
The only answer he could give was an affirmative grunt. He didn’t bother opening his eyes.  
  
He was ready now. In hindsight, Harry didn’t know why he hadn’t said anything. Why he hadn’t told anyone what had been bothering him. He didn’t know why he bothered to bottle it inside him. It had never done him any good before. But now, he was ready to get everything off of his chest before it crushed him.  
  
“Harry?”  
  
“Hey, Sirius.”  
  
A relieved sigh came through the phone. Harry’s lips twitched upwards at the sound of it. Just hearing Sirius’s voice made his heart calm, his breathing easier. The reassurance he got from just that one word was almost ridiculous, but he didn’t care.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Sirius asked. No matter how much practice he’d had masking it, Harry could still hear the underlying worry in his voice. “Does your chest still hurt?”  
  
“Just sore,” Harry answered. “And exhausted.” The bed dipped, and Harry assumed that Hermione had sat down next to him and Draco. Her hand settled on his knee, her thumb drawing circles over his sweatpants.  
  
“Do you feel okay to tell me what’s been going on?” Sirius continued. “Or do you want to sleep first? I can call you tomorrow and we can talk then.”  
  
“No, no, I wanna talk.” Harry swallowed hard. He could feel his Adam’s apple bob with the force of it. Though he was afraid of the disappointment he might face, Harry knew he needed to talk now. He didn’t think he could garner the courage to do it again later. “I… I haven’t been able to sleep. The nightmares have been worse. It’s stupid, really—”  
  
“Harry,” Sirius cut in, his voice somehow stern and gentle at the same time, “nothing you feel is stupid. Now, you can continue without self-deprecation, or you can sleep.”  
  
A huff of a laugh came from Harry’s barely-there grin. He felt Draco squeeze him as if reiterating the sentiment. His breath fanned across Harry’s skin, cool and soothing.  
  
“I have a couple of tests coming up. Logically, I know that I’ll do fine, but I worry anyway. The last championship game is next week, and we’ve all come so far this season, and I don’t want to lose, Sirius. I don’t want to have come this far, worked this hard, just to lose.”  
  
Though he stayed quiet, Harry could practically feel the comforting atmosphere Draco exuded.  
  
“Harry—”  
  
“That’s not even the best part, Sirius,” Harry sighed, cutting off his godfather. The panic that had subsided before threatened to return, but he took a few deep breaths to ground himself. “Petunia sent me a letter.”  
  
Silence fell over the room.  
  
Harry could feel the stunned energy in the air. The tension that arose in Draco’s arms around him was more than enough to say how shocked he was. Hermione’s hand had stilled on his knee. Sirius had gone quiet over the phone.  
  
“...what did it say, Harry? And when?” The tone of Sirius’s voice struggled to remain even, he was obviously rattled.  
  
“I think it was Saturday. Could’ve been Sunday.” Harry shifted against Draco, sliding down so his head could rest against Draco’s shoulder. The smaller boy pressed his lips against Harry’s temple. “It said… She said that she had a few boxes of my mother’s things if I wanted to go and look through them. She said she wanted to see me. Dudley, too.”  
  
He was too tired to feel anything that he was saying. Harry’s mind and body had been too full for too long, he would work through what he felt tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to get it off his chest. He just needed someone else to know.  
  
“I don’t _ever_ want to go back there, Sirius.” Harry swallowed, surprised to find that his body seemed to have enough energy to make tears build up behind his eyes. Just not enough to stop them from falling. “I don’t want to see _any_ of them ever again. I _can’t_ do that.”  
  
Harry felt Hermione’s thin fingers tangle with his own. Her soft, warm skin contrasted so severely to Draco’s icy fingers which slipped under Harry’s shirt to splay over his stomach, comforting and calming.  
  
“They can’t hurt you anymore, my love,” Draco whispered, his lips grazing against the shell of Harry’s ear. “You’re safe, sunshine, you don’t ever have to see them again.”  
  
“Harry,” Sirius said, “you don’t have to. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll get in contact with Petunia, see if I can convince her to give me Lily’s things. I’ll do _everything_ I can, okay?”  
  
“Okay.” Harry hated the thickness in his voice. He hated that he was giving those people anything of himself, that he was wasting tears on them. And yet, he knew that he needed to get it out now before it became something bigger later.  
  
He knew what he needed, more than anything else.  
  
“Can—” Harry sniffed, “can I come home?”  
  
“Oh, Harry,” Sirius sighed, “of course, of course, you can come home, my boy.” There was a sound of shuffling and papers being moved over the phone. “I’ll call the Headmaster first thing in the morning, and pick you up tomorrow after classes for the weekend, okay?”  
  
“Okay.” Shaky as it was, Harry felt so much relief saying that one word.  
  
“Drink some water and go to sleep, Harry. I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you,” Sirius said, his words soft and tender.  
  
“Love you too,” Harry answered.  
  
Then the phone clicked, and the call ended.  
  
It was silent for a moment before Harry finally found the will to peel his eyes open. He was met with the soft yellow light from his bedside lamp, illuminating the room. _The power must have come back on,_ he realized. Hermione leaned toward him from where she sat beside them, gripping his forearms and helping Harry sit up. The movement alone made Harry’s chest ache fiercely, biting back his wince.  
  
Her dark eyes were sad as she said, “I wish I could stay, love.” She leaned in and hugged him tightly, pressing her lips to his forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.”  
  
Nodding, Harry watched as Hermione reluctantly stood and walked out with a glance over her shoulder before closing the door behind her.  
  
Not even a second later, the door opened again and Ron stepped in, a water bottle in hand. 

***

Draco didn’t even have the chance to say the comforting words that had been on his tongue before Ronald stepped back into the room. Needless to say, his resentment toward the boy only grew.  
  
“I just…” Ron started, his eyes flitting nervously between Draco and Harry, “I went to get water for Harry. I figured he’d need it.”  
  
Skeptically, Draco considered the boy. He’d been gone for far too long to have just been getting water. He’d left without a word.  
  
However, Draco could see the sincerity in the way he looked at Harry, whose eyes were fixed on Ronald as well. But glazed over and tired as they were, Draco didn’t think that his boyfriend really cared at this point. Draco could feel the exhaustion inside of him, begging him to sleep.  
  
So, with a deep sigh through his nose, Draco gestured with his head to proceed, closely watching his every move. As soon as Harry registered the water being handed to him, he immediately unscrewed it and began drinking as fast as he could. It didn’t even look like he was _breathing._  
  
Draco raised his hand and ran it up and down Harry’s back. He could feel the ridges of Harry’s scars even through his shirt, a constant reminder of what he’d been put through.  
  
As soon as Harry finished, he took deep—nearly gasping—breaths as he set the empty bottle on his bedside table. Scooting closer to him, Draco gently grabbed one of Harry’s hands and pressed it against his chest, right where his heart was. The beat was slow and steady. Turning to look at him, Harry’s green eyes looked calm once again. Exhausted, but calm.  
  
Draco quietly instructed, “Deep, even breaths, Harry. Slow down. Let’s get you to sleep, baby. You need it.”  
  
Harry nodded, gave him a small smile, and fell back on his pillows, much to Draco’s amusement. Even as his green eyes fluttered shut, the taller boy whispered, “Stay?”  
  
The smile that crept on Draco’s face was overflowing with tenderness and love for this boy. “Of course I’ll stay,” he whispered back, “though at this rate I think that I may as well move in.”  
  
“Wouldn’t be so bad,” Harry mumbled. Draco could see the sleep hanging over him. Each muscle in his body seemed to have relaxed, gone limp. He wasn’t asleep yet, but he would be.  
  
“Draco?” came Ronald’s voice from across the room. Draco’s head snapped in his direction, surprised that the red-headed boy would speak to him at all. Uneasiness met him in those brown eyes. “I… are you staying?”  
  
“Yes.” Draco kept his words short and curt. Getting Harry water wasn’t enough to make up for what he’d done. Harry had told him what Ronald had said to him that day that they’d fought. Draco didn’t happen to like it very much. “Is that a problem?”  
  
“Uh—no, no of course not.” Ronald seemed to grimace at himself. “I just… I wanted to apologize to you. I’m sorry for saying that Harry didn’t need you. For being an ass to you when I had no right to be.”  
  
The monster inside Draco—the one he’d worked too hard and too long to restrain—urged him to rip this apology apart, to spit hateful words at Ronald until he was on his knees, begging. It wanted him to tear this boy before him to shreds until there were tears in his eyes.  
  
But Draco hadn’t been that person for a _long_ time. He’d never even _liked_ that person. No one else had, either. He wouldn’t let something so small as an apology from a boy he didn’t like bring the monster back out.  
  
Instead, Draco stood from the bed and took a few steps in Ronald’s direction. “I won’t lie and say that I forgive or believe you,” Draco started. “At least not right now. But, in all fairness, I could’ve handled the situation better on my end as well.”  
  
Ronald nodded sharply. “Yeah… Well, goodnight then, I guess.” He turned and walked into the bathroom without another word.  
  
Draco didn’t mind, though. He didn’t have much else to say to the other boy anyhow. While he appreciated the apology, Draco couldn’t put any merit in it until Ronald had gone two weeks without going back on it. Again.  
  
Waving the unpleasant thoughts from his mind, Draco turned back around to crawl into bed with Harry.  
  
Only to find his boyfriend in only his boxer briefs, his sweatpants and t-shirt tossed onto the floor while he had been distracted. Planting his hands on his hips, Draco playfully scowled at his drowsy boyfriend.  
  
Seeing this through heavy-lidded eyes, Harry mumbled, “Was too hot, you were taking too long.” Reaching out, he grabbed one of Draco’s hands and drew him closer, his sleepy smile more than enough to draw Draco in. But, before Draco could even touch the sheets, Harry’s hand had moved to the hem of Draco’s shirt, fiddling with it. The smaller boy recognized it for the request it was.  
  
“Fine,” Draco grumbled, pulling his shirt over his head, then unzipping his jeans, “but you’re going straight to sleep.” When he was down to his briefs, Draco climbed in bed beside Harry, closing the red curtains and pulling the blanket up with him.  
  
Despite his facade of a complaint, Draco felt impossibly warm like this. His skin against Harry’s, the feel of him so close, with Harry’s arms wrapped around him and holding him to his chest, it all made him feel so _impossibly_ warm. Draco knew he could never tire of this—falling asleep next to Harry, being held by him, loved by him.  
  
He couldn’t let himself fall asleep without telling Harry as much. Receiving a soft kiss to his head, Draco finally found himself falling into the depths of sleep in the arms of the boy he loved.  
  
He couldn’t imagine that it got any better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... yeah. Keep in mind that everyone experiences these kinds of attacks differently, that they effect everyone differently. You wouldn't believe how much research I've done. It's not even close to perfect, but oh well. Leave a comment! They always make me smile, and I try to reply to all of them. I love knowing what you guys are thinking!


	20. My Undying Love To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opening the door to Number 12 Grimmauld Place was like breathing in fresh air after being stuck underwater. Familiar smells of sandalwood, vanilla, and jasmine surrounded Harry as he looked down the familiar hallway, which was lined with countless framed photos. Sirius’ hand on his shoulder and the smile on his face reminded him of the first time he’d walked through this door—one of the happiest days of Harry’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it turns out I actually am alive. My dearest readers, I'm sorry it took me this long to write this chapter, but I made it *extra* long for y'all, even if it still feels like it's trash. I think this might actually be the longest chapter yet, but I'm too lazy to go and check the word count for all my other ones. Anyway, I hope that you all enjoy this! 
> 
> As a sort of separate note, I hope that you all can find the courage to stand up for yourselves and for your fellow human beings in today's world, especially for pride month and for the BLM protesters trying to change our world. We're doing good work in the face of such adversity, and the world is long overdue for change. Lots of love to everyone out there!

Draco had had to sneak out of Harry’s dorm room early the next morning after waking up tangled with him in his sheets. Everything in him had been reluctant to leave the sleeping boy, wanted to stay for as long as he could, and simply gaze at the peacefulness in Harry’s face. He’d wanted to relish in the warmth and intimacy that came from being pressed so tightly to Harry’s smooth, bare skin. Well over ten minutes had been spent simply tracing the lines of Harry’s body—softly over his face, his collarbones, down the entirety of his muscled abdomen. The thrum of his boyfriend’s strong heartbeat against Draco’s own chest seemed to beg him to stay.  
  
Instead, Draco had grudgingly forced himself out of bed. He’d quickly shimmied into his clothes from the day before and pressed light kisses to his boyfriend’s forehead and the center of his chest before creeping his way through the corridors back to his own dormitory.  
  
Even as he now sat in the Great Hall beside Harry, holding his hand under the table, Draco couldn’t get the small, soft smile off of his face. Yes, the day previous had been… _horrible._ It had no doubt left Harry aching and drained, and a multitude of other things that Draco couldn’t even begin to comprehend. Draco knew that he couldn’t ever forget the fear that had nearly stopped his heart.  
  
Rather, it was the feeling of hope that made Draco smile. No matter how many bad days lay in their future, they could always rise with the sun the next morning and make something better.  
  
“Wait, wait, wait,” Harry blurted, eyes wide as he gaped at Pansy across from him, “he was cheating with _Cho?_”  
  
“Yup,” Pansy said, popping the ‘p’ with her purple lips. She’d been rehashing the news she’d told Draco, Theo, and Blaise the day before to Harry and Hermione. “It seems that you and I have something in common other than our unparalleled attractiveness, Potter.”  
  
Draco watched with amusement as Harry nearly choked on his orange juice. Though a laugh tumbled from his lips, it was weak and strained.  
  
“I know it doesn’t count for much,” Harry told her, a sympathetic frown on his lips, “at least not right now. But I’m so, _so sorry_ that he did that to you. I know how it hurts, how it screws with your head.” He swallowed hard, and Draco knew from the shadows in his eyes that Harry was trying not to let himself get pulled into those memories. “But it’s not your fault. There’s nothing that you could have done differently, nothing that you could’ve changed or said to him to make him stay. It’s on _him._”  
  
Pansy’s eyes dropped down to her plate. Beside her, Theo squeezed her shoulder fondly before returning to his breakfast, chatting idly with Blaise across from him. Her moment of solemnity didn’t last long, however.  
  
Looking back up at Harry, Pansy scoffed, eyes flashing, “Damn _right_ it’s on him.” Even though her eyes spoke of fury and confidence, Draco could see Pansy picking at the skin around her nails. He could see the hidden pain in her slouched shoulders, in the dark circles around her eyes that she’d tried to cover with makeup. “What did you do?” she asked, looking intently at Harry. There was an air of desperation about her, like she longed for connection. “To make yourself feel better?”  
  
Uneasiness flitted across Harry’s face, gone so quickly that Draco almost thought he imagined it. He had to admit that he was curious as to the answer to this question as well.  
  
“Honestly?” Harry sighed, “I didn’t. Not for what felt like forever. I had a pretty bad breakdown. It was hard to just make myself get out of bed for the first few days. I had to have either Hermione or Ron with me pretty much at all times, to make sure I didn’t do something desperately stupid—like go and beg Cedric to take me back or some shit.” There was a huff of a laugh from Hermione on Harry’s other side. The corner of Harry’s mouth twitched upward in a reminiscent smile. “After that, I was pretty angry. At Cedric. At Cho. The universe or some shit like that. But mostly, I was just mad at _myself._”  
  
Silence had fallen over the table. Their little group had turned their undivided attention to Harry. Draco squeezed his hand under the table and stretched upward to press a soft kiss under Harry’s ear. It earned him a delicate smile before Harry continued, his eyes boring into Pansy’s.  
  
“I was _so_ angry at myself—for not seeing it earlier, for being so incredibly stupid and naive, for being so dependent on Cedric and falling apart over him. I sought validation anywhere I could get it, made a lot of stupid mistakes for it.” Running a hand down his face, Harry slightly shook his head. Draco watched as his broad chest moved with a deep breath. “But, through all of that, though, and after, it was _this_ that helped me the most. Just being with people you trust. People who have your back, no matter what. It _will_ get better. Maybe not right now, but it will. I _promise_ you.”  
  
Pansy’s lips were pressed into a thin, wobbling line. Misty eyes blinked at both Harry and Draco from across the table. Looking at one of his best friends, one he’d known for years, through everything, Draco could only wish that he could empathize with her. To feel the pain that she felt so that he could help her to ease it. To help her in every way he possibly could. It killed him that he had no idea what to do.  
  
And yet, Draco was so impossibly grateful that Harry could help Pansy when the rest of them couldn’t. It was just yet another reason that he knew that being with Harry was one of the best decisions he’d ever made. He wasn’t only good for Draco, he had helped all of them.  
  
“Well,” Pansy murmured, “here’s to hoping.”  
  
She gulped down her orange juice, letting a grin grace her lips at the laughter that erupted around her. That was when Draco knew that Pansy would be fine, in time.  
  
Conversation flowed easily and without care throughout the rest of breakfast—complaints about stingy teachers and difficult assignments, plans for the weekend, everything and nothing in particular—until Hermione mentioned that the first class of the day would start soon. Draco held Harry’s hand tightly as they walked out of the Great Hall. He pressed himself into the taller boy’s side as tightly as he could, soaking in the warmth he radiated.  
  
Knowing that before the sun fell, Harry will have gone home for the weekend, Draco longed to spend every spare second with his boyfriend before their roles were reversed, and he would have to watch as Harry drove away. Only this time, Draco knew that Harry both wanted and needed the time spent at home with his family.  
  
It didn’t quite make the thought any easier.  
  
Harry walked Draco all the way to his first class and paused outside the door, pulling Draco closer to him.  
  
“Are you okay?” Harry asked quietly.  
  
Confusion wrinkled Draco’s brow as he looked up into Harry’s gorgeously green eyes. “I’m just fine, love.” There was a subtle anxious air about Harry. One that Draco silently cursed himself for not having noticed before. “Why?”  
  
“It’s just… you’ve been quiet all morning.” Harry raised his hand to rub at the back of his neck. Green eyes shuttered. “I just worry. That maybe me talking about Cedric made you uncomfortable. That maybe yesterday freaked you out, that—that _I_ freaked you out and—”  
  
“_Harry James Potter_, you listen to me _right now_,” Draco interrupted, gently but firmly. Those anxious green eyes snapped up to look at him, slight surprise in their depths. “First of all, you shouldn’t have to hide or avoid talking about your past just to accommodate others. It _doesn’t_ make me uncomfortable, baby.” Seeing the doubt written on his boyfriend’s face, Draco resumed with a slight eye roll. “Sure, I don’t particularly _like_ the thought of you with someone else, and there’s _no_ chance I’m ever going to _like_ any of your exes. But it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. Or think any less of you.”  
  
“Are you su—”  
  
“And second,” Draco continued, not allowing Harry to second-guess anything he said, “you don’t frighten me, Harry. You didn’t freak me out. It’s not your fault that you have these attacks. It’s not something you can control.” Taking both of Harry’s hands in his own, Draco ignored the judgmental stares they were receiving from passing students and kissed each of Harry’s calloused knuckles. “I don’t love you _despite_ the things you’ve been through, Harry. I don’t love you _despite_ the fact that you’re not perfect. I love each and every piece of you, sunshine.”  
  
Draco watched with mild amusement and a small smirk on his face as Harry’s mouth opened, but no words came out.  
  
Cutting off his own floundering, Harry leaned forward to press his lips to Draco’s in a warm, soft, lingering kiss.  
  
“I love you, too,” Harry mumbled against his lips. Gentle fingers ran through Draco’s meticulously combed hair, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Moving his fingers to curl in the fabric of Harry’s uniform sweater, Draco pouted as Harry pulled away. “But you’re sure—”  
  
“_Harry._ Yes, I’m sure. I’m absolutely, positively, entirely, utterly sure.”  
  
Huffing a laugh, Harry swept a kiss to Draco’s sharp cheekbone. “You know, deep confessions of undying love like that aren’t usually meant to be made in crowded corridors, kitten.”  
  
“I’ll damn well confess my undying love to you whenever and wherever I feel like it.” Closing the small distance between them, Draco caught Harry’s full bottom lip in his teeth, attempting to pull him in to kiss him—deeply and unrestrained. However, Harry only laughed and gave him a subdued peck.  
  
“Class starts in a few minutes, baby. As much as I would love to make out with you right now, I’ve gotta go, or Professor McGonagall will kick my ass.”  
  
“Fine,” Draco relented, grinning up at his boyfriend. “I’ll just have to kiss you at lunch, yeah?”  
  
“I’ll be looking forward to it.”  
  
When he finally managed to disentangle himself from Harry and walk into class, Draco felt that familiar warmth that came from simply being near his boyfriend begin to fade, until all that remained was an ember at the bottom of his heart. However, he wasn’t able to stop smiling throughout the entire hour of boring lectures and homework assignments.  
  
He briefly recalled just how cold it had felt being away from Harry for his mother’s birthday, and tried not to let his thoughts linger on how he would feel that same chill in a matter of hours. 

***

“You know,” Hermione said, walking down a crowded corridor with Harry, just after the last class of the day had ended, “I’ve been wondering about something.”  
  
“Aren’t you always?”  
  
“If Petunia has your mum’s stuff,” she continued, as if he hadn’t said anything, “then where did your dad’s things go?” Hermione tucked herself closer into Harry’s side to avoid getting jostled by the other students, wrapping her arm around his hips until her thumb was tucked into the belt loop at his other side to avoid getting separated. “I mean, if Sirius or Remus had it, then you would’ve known already, right?”  
  
Harry would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered about the same things before. Even before he’d gotten the letter from Petunia.  
  
Letting out a deep sigh, he answered, “I don’t know, really. I guess I just always figured that if either of them had some of my dad’s stuff, then they would’ve shown me or given it to me by now… I don’t think I’ve ever really asked.”  
  
“Hmm…” Hermione remained attached to his hip even as they turned into a less crowded corridor on their way to their common room. “Maybe you should ask Sirius this weekend.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe.”  
  
“Speaking of which,” she said, letting go of Harry so they could climb up the stairway to his dormitory, “what time is he picking you up?”  
  
Harry didn’t even bother to answer until he had opened the door to his dorm and practically collapsed onto his bed, finally allowing his exhaustion to hit him. “I’m pretty sure he said six? I don’t know, check my phone, he texted me in third hour.”  
  
Having thrown an arm over his eyes, Harry felt rather than saw Hermione plop down next to him. He’d been trying to ignore the sore muscles in his body since he’d opened his eyes—waking up and still being tired was never fun. Keeping his fatigue at bay had only made it grow worse, and now that he was finally lying comfortably in his bed, he was tempted to never leave it again.  
  
The day before had left him completely drained—physically, mentally, emotionally, all of it. His chest ached, something he knew would persist for a few days at most, his mind felt like a mess, he hadn’t been able to concentrate in almost all his classes, and his entire being just _ached_ for rest. And while he loved being able to help her, his conversation with Pansy at breakfast had only depleted him further—memories, especially _those_ memories, tended to be extremely unhelpful.  
  
After pulling his phone from his front pants pocket, Hermione crawled across him to lay her head on his stomach. Out of habit, Harry’s other hand went to fiddle with the ends of her curly, dark hair. “He said seven. I can start your packing if you want to sleep for a few hours.”  
  
“No, it’s alright,” Harry slowly moved to sit up again, his muscles protesting each movement. He didn’t exactly know why he protested—he just knew that she had already done enough for him. “I can do it.”  
  
“You _liar._” Hermione’s hand pressed down on his shoulder, rolling her eyes. “You’re _exhausted_ and you _have_ been _all_ day.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“I swear I will sit on you if you try to leave this bed without sleeping for at least a solid two hours.”  
  
Harry’s eyebrow rose and an amused smile quirked at his mouth. A long-suffering sigh blew out of his lips. “Alright, but only because you’re _so_ intimidating.”  
  
“Haha, very funny.” With a small laugh, Hermione’s head fell back onto his stomach, scrolling through his phone.  
  
A comfortable silence fell about them. Harry realized that he had been missing moments like these—just being with his best friend. The person who knew him as no one else did. Whether it be going with her to her favorite book store at her insistence, dragging her outside for some sun, or simply just laying together like this, Harry realized that in the past few months, there hadn’t been as many of those moments as he would’ve liked.  
  
“Hermione?”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Do you think…” Harry swallowed thickly, “do you feel like I’ve been... neglecting you? Since Draco and I started dating?”  
  
He practically felt the wheels in Hermione’s mind turning. With each passing second, the silence grew like thorns in Harry’s chest and over his entire body. Thorns that pricked at his skin and demanded that he pay penance.  
  
“No,” Hermione softly replied, “no, not really. Sure, we haven’t spent as much time together, but that’s normal when you have a boyfriend, Harry.” Rising to lean on her elbows, Hermione plucked Harry’s arm from his face so he would look at her. “Plus, I’m your best friend, not your jealous housewife. You only have so many hours in the day, and I’ll be content if I get at least one of them with you, okay?”  
  
And just like that, the thorns withered and died, bubbles of bliss growing in their place. After so many years, Harry knew that doubting Hermione’s words never did him any good. A content smile pulled at the corners of Harry’s lips. “Okay. I just wanted to be sure, I guess.”  
  
“Go to sleep, Harry,” Hermione whispered, lightly brushing away the hair on his forehead with a gentle smile. “Draco’s coming to help me pack for you. We’ll wake you up when Sirius is here.”  
  
Finally, Harry allowed himself to close his heavy eyelids, to give in to the exhaustion that had been weighing on him. He felt each muscle release its tension and relax. Thoughts blurred together and his body fell completely limp, not bothering to shift around to find a more comfortable position.  
  
“Thank you,” he mumbled, just before sleep pulled him under. 

Harry didn’t have nearly as much luggage as Draco had had when he’d gone home. Not that he was allowed to carry what little there was.  
  
“Dray, really, it’s just a backpack,” Harry tried, trailing after his boyfriend down the corridor, “I can carry it.”  
  
“Absolutely not.”  
  
Harry groaned. “I’m not an invalid, you know.”  
  
“Maybe not,” Pansy quipped from beside him, “but we _all_ know he’ll baby you to the last second before you leave, and then whine until _we_ coddle him back.”  
  
“Don’t we know it.”  
  
“Shut up, Blaise,” Draco grumbled, slowing to a stop at the front doors of Hogwarts.  
  
Fondly shaking his head, Harry caught up to Draco and laced his fingers through his boyfriend’s free hand. The miffed pout on his pink lips could have easily been one of the most adorable things Harry had ever seen. Gently, he leaned down and pressed a soft, tender kiss to Draco’s mouth, smirking at how he chased for more.  
  
“Harry,” Hermione interrupted, “Sirius texted. He’s waiting outside.”  
  
A relieved sort of sigh stole from Harry’s mouth. _Finally,_ he could go home. _Finally,_ he could let himself sort through everything that had made him break in a place he knew was undeniably safe. _Finally,_ he could detox himself of everything that had been plaguing him.  
  
“Well,” Harry said, looking up to scan over his little escort group, “Theo, I’ll see you at practice on Monday.”  
  
Grinning, Theo stepped to Harry and gripped his hand, pulling him into a loose embrace. “I’ll see you, man.” With a pat to the back and a crooked grin on his face, Harry pulled away from his unexpected friend. Theo had been the one who’d taken the most time to warm up to Harry—now he was part of his team, his friend.  
  
A sudden weight crashed into Harry, forcefully enough to make him stumble back a step. Lean arms wrapped tightly around his middle, almost clinging. Looking down, Harry saw Pansy’s newly-dyed lavender purple head of hair, nuzzled into the center of his chest, her shoulders quaking. It seemed she’d finally let the dam around her pain start to crack. An ache filled him—he knew how she felt, to the greatest extent he could.  
  
If he was completely honest, Harry hadn’t expected to become as close to Pansy as he had. More than once he’d spent hours helping her to dye her hair in different sporadic colors, listening to her rant and gossip and laugh. He’d spent that time growing increasingly fond of Pansy’s witty and flirtatious personality.  
  
It made him _ache_ to see her suffer as he had. To see that flame of hers flicker and sputter—much like his own had. There was no doubt in his entire body that he would do the best he could to help her breathe that fire back to life.  
  
So, Harry craned his head until his lips were pressed to the top of Pansy’s head and wrapped his arms around her curvaceous frame. “Shh, flower, I know. I’m not going to be gone very long, okay?”  
  
Though she nodded her head against his chest, her grip didn’t loosen, and the shaking in her shoulders only persisted.  
  
“Remember what I said this morning?” Harry whispered to her. “You’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll be back on Monday, and you can call or text me anytime, okay? I’m here for you.”  
  
“Okay.” Even muffled against his chest, the single word came out watery and broken.  
  
Harry held Pansy close to him, soothingly running his fingers through her hair until he felt her quivering come to a stop. Her arms loosened around him, but her hands were fisted firmly in his shirt against the small of his back. Harry felt her taking slow, deep breaths in tandem with him.  
  
“You know, Harry,” she said, her voice nearly calm and collected with what sounded like underlying amusement, “if you and Draco weren’t so _disgustingly_ in love with each other, I might have tried to seduce you by now.”  
  
Laughter rose unbidden in Harry as she released him, only to look up at Harry with a sharp smirk on her lips—one that almost seemed to spite the redness of her eyes. He knew for a certainty that he would be hearing from her over the weekend.  
  
At least, he hoped so, anyway.  
  
Once Pansy retreated into Theo’s side, Harry said a quick farewell to Blaise and hugged Hermione—he knew that she wouldn’t need or want an elaborate or theatrical goodbye.  
  
Besides, he was only going to be gone for a few days.  
  
Draco followed him through the giant doors, sunshine spilling over both of them. It was getting warmer now that spring had a firm grip on the weather. The evening daylight was Harry’s favorite—just warm enough to bask in it without being too hot.  
  
Sirius had parked his jet-black car in the cul de sac driveway in front of the academy; he stood leaning against the driver-side door. Just seeing his godfather made Harry feel instantly more relaxed. A small, sad smile appeared on Sirius’ face, just as Harry felt the tears building behind his eyes. It was like his own dam cracked and broke free, the pressure too much for it to hold.  
  
Memories flashed unbidden through his head—the paralyzing fear he’d felt when he first saw the letter from Petunia, the haunting nightmares that had been relentlessly plaguing him, the anxiety over both his future and his past, all of it. Harry’s heart squeezed and ached with the force of them, his head felt both light and heavy, the overwhelming emotions made him let out a choked breath.  
  
Racing down the steps, Harry practically threw himself into Sirius’ arms. Though he was taller and broader than the other man, he felt like a boy—a child—when his godfather hugged him tightly. He couldn’t choke back the hot tears that rolled down his face. He couldn’t withhold the sobs that wracked his body, nor the pathetic sounds that burst out of his mouth. The fast pounding of his heart made him feel like he was nearly dying.  
  
It _strangled_ Harry. All of it. Every contradicting emotion and thought in his mind and body threatened to stifle the very breath that gave him life. Crying, sobbing like a child made him feel weak—but he couldn’t find it in himself to stop. He was so impossibly relieved to be going home to his family, and yet, he was… _so_ scared. So scared that something would happen and he would have to enter _that_ house again. That house that had become the embodiment of his own personal hell.  
  
Sirius murmured to him, “Shh, Harry, you’re safe. You’re safe, my beautiful boy. Shh…” Dropping his head to Sirius’ shoulder, Harry let his godfather’s words wash over him in soothing waves. His hands ran up and down Harry’s back, lovingly and tenderly. “Breathe, son. Deep breaths, you’re safe, shh…”  
  
When he was finally able to collect himself, after what felt like forever of listening to Sirius’ cooing words, Harry pulled away. Pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes, he felt icy fingers dusting against his bicep. It served as a comforting reminder that Draco—who had seen him weak and vulnerable and a mess—hadn’t left his side.  
  
The feelings of unrest and fear began to ebb away. _I’m safe,_ Harry told himself, _I’m fine. I’m okay, everything’s going to be fine._ Breathing came easier. His heart slowed to its usual steady beat.  
  
“Harry,” Sirius said, gently prying away Harry’s hands from his face, “I’m going to wait in the car for you, okay?”  
  
After he nodded his understanding, Harry watched with blurry vision as his godfather turned to Draco.  
  
“It was lovely seeing you again, Draco.” Sirius promptly ignored the hand that Draco offered and went straight for a hug. This time, however, Draco looked less surprised and more hesitant as he returned the embrace. “I hope,” Sirius said, “that I will be seeing more of you.”  
  
“Me too,” Draco answered, receiving a pat on the back before Sirius smiled and took the backpack he’d been carrying, then got in the car.  
  
Soft grey eyes turned to look at Harry. A feeling of calm and peace filled Harry’s chest, overwhelming each and every negative thought in his mind. Draco stepped closer and reached up to cup Harry’s face. The coolness of his boyfriend’s fingers tracing over the lines of his face made him feel even more at ease. Leaning into Draco’s hands, Harry wrapped his arms around the smaller boy, drawing him closer until their chests pressed together.  
  
Looking deep into those grey eyes, Harry whispered, “I won’t be gone very long.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I just… I need this.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
The way Draco whispered to him didn’t sound angry—rather it sounded like he was reaffirming it for Harry. It was gentle and knowing, and it only made Harry’s heart grow fonder of the boy in front of him. Understanding energy seemed to flow out of him, curling around Harry and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Even though it wouldn’t even be a total of three whole days, he knew that he’d miss simply being in his boyfriend’s presence.  
  
He’d miss everything about the boy in front of him, even though he knew he wouldn’t be gone long.  
  
“I love you,” Harry suddenly blurted. “I am so _impossibly_ in love with you, Dray. I’m in love with every part of you—your smile, your laugh, your mind, the way your nose crinkles when you concentrate. Every shadow you try to hide, every piece of yourself that you aren’t proud of, all the things that make you so imperfectly perfect—I love all of it.”  
  
With silver-lined eyes, Draco’s watery, beaming grin was the impeccable twin to Harry’s. His pale face had flushed red, turning the tips of his ears pink in the most adorable way possible. Blossoms of fondness flowered all throughout Harry’s body, adoration replaced the blood flowing through his veins; devotion, respect, fondness, and affection filled his bones.  
  
_It's not possible,_ Harry mused, _that I’ve only been dating Draco for four months now. It feels so much longer, and like it’s only been a blink of an eye._  
  
“You know,” Draco said, his voice thick and wobbling, both of his hands coming to tangle in the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck, “deep confessions of love like that aren’t usually meant to be made when your godfather is less than ten feet away and you’re about to leave.”  
  
Harry managed a small smirk, letting out a barked laugh. “I’ll damn well confess my undying love to you whenever and wherever I feel like it.”  
  
This time, it was Harry who leaned in, nudging Draco’s nose with his own before slanting his mouth over Draco’s in a soft, gentle kiss. Fireworks seemed to explode inside Harry, brighter and hotter with each movement of their lips. It seemed that they both melted into each other as they fit together perfectly. Harry’s hands touched every inch of Draco he could reach. He desperately wanted to memorize the shape of him, the feel of him so close, his smell, his taste—everything. Draco kissed him slowly, almost lazily. His fingers curled in Harry’s raven hair, gently tugging him closer. It felt as if they had all the time in the world when in reality they both knew that Harry needed to leave in a matter of minutes.  
  
When they both finally pulled away for breath, it was no surprise that neither had any more tears in their eyes. A moment of silence was spent simply gazing at each other, and Harry knew that he could do so for hours.  
  
“Harry,” Draco muttered, “promise me something.”  
  
“Anything.”  
  
“When you get back,” Draco’s thumb came to caress Harry’s bottom lip, “promise me you’ll let me paint you for as long as I want.”  
  
“I promise.” Harry punctuated his words with the last kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead. “There’s nothing else I would rather do, my love.” 

Opening the door to Number 12 Grimmauld Place was like breathing in fresh air after being stuck underwater. Familiar smells of sandalwood, vanilla, and jasmine surrounded Harry as he looked down the familiar hallway, which was lined with countless framed photos. Sirius’ hand on his shoulder and the smile on his face reminded him of the first time he’d walked through this door—one of the happiest days of Harry’s life.  
  
Sudden barking sounded from what sounded like the living room, and Harry grinned impossibly widely and laughed as Snuffles—possibly the best gift he’d ever been given by Sirius—appeared in the hallway. Harry could practically see the excitement in his dog’s eyes as he bounded down the hallway, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he whined at him.  
  
Harry dropped to his knees and was immediately accosted by the huge Scottish Deerhound. He couldn’t help but talk to Snuffles in that stereotypical dog-parent voice as he said, “Hey, buddy! Did you miss me? Huh? Did you miss me?” The whines that came in reply only made Harry chuckle louder as he buried his hands in Snuffles’ wiry black fur, a full belly laugh that resonated in his whole body. Petting him all over only seemed to make the dog even more excited.  
  
Snuffles couldn’t seem to decide which was more important—licking every inch of Harry’s face, or trying to tackle him. Sirius laughed behind him as the dog finally seemed to decide that doing both was the way to go. His forelegs came around Harry’s shoulders, his panting, warm breath fanning over his face while his tongue frantically licked him all over.  
  
He didn’t mind the saliva at all. Harry hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his dog until he was finally faced with him. Snuffles’ hazel eyes seemed to hold the same amount of fulfilled longing.  
  
“You know,” Sirius said in between fits of laughter, “I’m still a little jealous that he only ever gets like this with _you._”  
  
Voices sounded from the living room as soon as Snuffles’ barking died down. Beyond elated, Harry stood up and, with Snuffles practically attached to his hip, followed them down the hall. He glanced at all the pictures hanging on the walls as he went, pictures he’d seen a million times. He was in most of them, after all, in some form or other. Reminiscent memories caressed his mind, filling him to the brim with happiness. Harry felt as though he might combust.  
  
In the living room, Harry found both Remus and Tonks—who had dyed her hair a lovely lilac-pink color—and their two children. Tonks held a smiling Astrid on her hip, apparently trying to fix the flowery headband she’d tossed off. Teddy had seemingly been impatiently tugging on his father’s pant leg until he set his dark green eyes on the newcomers.  
  
“_Harry!_” he shrieked. The boy rushed forward as quickly as his legs would take him, the biggest smile Harry had ever seen on his face. With glee running through his veins, Harry scooped up the toddler, whirling him through the air and thoroughly enjoying the squealing laughter that burst from him. The extensive amount of energy Teddy had in his small body never failed to astound Harry.  
  
“I hear you’ve been giving your dad some grey hairs, mister,” Harry teased, letting his fingers wander over Teddy’s sides to tickle him.  
  
“Nuh-uh!” Teddy laughed, trying to push Harry’s hands away. “Da’s just _old._”  
  
“He sure is,” Harry agreed, laughing at Remus’ scoff. His eyes took in every inch of his sort-of cousin, sort-of nephew while he held him to his chest. Yes, Teddy was still as adorable as ever. “Your blue hair is going away, bud.”  
  
“I know.” Teddy pouted, his hands going up to mess with his hair. “But! Mama says we can make it bluer.”  
  
Once Harry had Teddy settled—if you could call sitting on Harry’s shoulders and excitedly babbling settled—he hugged Tonks, careful not to crush Astrid. The baby’s dark eyes looked at Harry widely, her mousy brown hair still a slight mess. Her nearly toothless mouth pulled into a shy, giggling smile, warming Harry all the way to the center of his heart.  
  
“I swear,” Tonks said, passing the baby girl to him, “you get bigger every time I see you.” Astrid immediately raised her small hand to explore Harry’s face—nearly poking his eye out, but he only laughed and held her closer while also trying to make sure Teddy was secure. Harry was absolutely mesmerized by Astrid—how she could simultaneously be _so_ small and so much bigger than the last time he saw her.  
  
“I know!” Sirius joined them, his quicksilver eyes glinting. “It’s not fair. I guess that’s what I get for making him eat his vegetables.”  
  
Idle chatter followed the loud laughter, and Harry felt unbelievable loving warmth spread throughout his entire body, reaching every nook and cranny. He almost felt like he could be glowing. He’d missed this. He’d missed being with his little family.  
  
He was _home._

***

It was already Sunday evening, and Draco was positively freezing to death.  
  
Figuratively, of course.  
  
And somewhat literally.  
  
Which was why Draco was currently curled tightly in a ball on his bed with his thick comforter blanket wrapped around him, alone in his dorm. He held his phone to his ear, anxiously waiting for Harry to answer his call while staring at the soft yellow light that emanated from the sunset outside.  
  
Draco had decided early on in his boyfriend’s absence that he would do more than mope around and miss Harry until he came back. No, he’d decided to keep himself busy—thinking, mostly. And reasoning to himself. He’d finally decided that he wanted to broach a topic that he and Harry had never discussed deeply or seriously.  
  
It was also convenient that it was only over the phone, and Draco wouldn’t have to look at Harry. Or let his boyfriend see his own embarrassment.  
  
A click sounded in Draco’s ear. Harry had finally answered his phone.  
  
“Hey, baby.”  
  
Hearing Harry’s voice, if only those two words so far, instantly made Draco’s mind go quiet and nearly forget everything but _Harry._ He felt himself already melting inside.  
  
“Hi,” Draco breathed. He curled himself tighter under his thick blanket, a smile tugging at his mouth. “How are you?”  
  
“Honestly?”  
  
“No, lie to me.”  
  
“Haha, you’re _so_ funny.” There was a shuffling noise on Harry’s end of the phone, and a deep sigh from him. “I went and saw one of my therapists today.”  
  
A tight thread woven of worry and sympathy constricted around Draco’s heart. He’d been to a few therapy sessions himself, so he had some idea of how they worked, but it wasn’t ever a consistent thing or something that stuck.  
  
Yet, Draco wasn’t ignorant enough to think that Harry’s therapy sessions were anywhere near the same as the ones Draco had been to.  
  
Lucius had been the one to arrange them. Conveniently following after Draco had come out to his parents as gay. Luckily for him, however, none of the few therapists he’d seen had seemed to have any interest in his father’s agenda. Most were actually quite nice.  
  
“Oh? How did it go?”  
  
“Pretty well.” There was a heavy breath and a pause. “At least at the end. Most of it was pretty hard—there was a _lot_ of crap to sort through. But I feel so much better now. If a little drained.”  
  
“That’s great,” Draco said. And he meant it. Harry’s happiness meant so much to him—it was everything. Seeing him so torn, the way he had been for far too long, nearly killed Draco. “I’m happy that you’re feeling better, my love.”  
  
Humming in response, Harry then asked, “What about you? What has my gorgeous, heart-sick boyfriend been up to today?”  
  
The smile that was undoubtedly on Harry’s face could practically be felt through the phone, in his words. Beaming to himself, Draco felt his face heating. He both loved and hated that Harry’s words still had such an effect on him.  
  
“Physically restraining Theo from beating up Terry, for the most part.”  
  
“I don’t know why you bother,” Harry snorted, “if I was there, I’d just help him.”  
  
“I think it has something to do with the fact that I’m a pacifist, unlike you crazy psychopaths,” Draco retorted.  
  
“Oh, come on,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice, “we _both_ know there’s a _little_ bit of psycho in you.”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
  
After they shared a laugh, a comfortable sort of quiet took over them. It was like they were both simply basking in knowing that the other was there, even if not in person. Draco nibbled at his bottom lip, debating on how to bring up what he’d really wanted to talk about. His fingers twitched. Burning heat had already rushed to his face, and he hadn’t even said anything yet.  
  
“Dray, I can practically feel you stewing,” Harry said, gently breaking the stretched silence. “Whatever it is, just spit it out.”  
  
“Real tactful, Potter.”  
  
“Always am.” Harry sighed, “Seriously, please tell me what’s on your mind.”  
  
“Can… can I ask you a really off-topic question that’s kind of… somewhat, maybe, awkward?”  
  
“Hit me.”  
  
“What do you th-think about… I... I mean, h-have you…” Draco stammered. Both his mouth and throat suddenly felt like sandpaper. _Looks like all that practicing in the mirror was for nothing,_ Draco thought. The heat had spread from his face to his ears and chest—it should have been impossible to feel that flushed. Swallowing thickly past the lump in his throat, he tried again. He had to force the words out, if quietly. “What do you think about h-having sex with me?”  
  
Silence.  
  
Draco waited.  
  
He _swore_ he could hear Harry breathing on the other end of the phone.  
  
He suddenly understood why some people bite their nails when nervous. He didn’t know what to do with his hands and heart couldn’t seem to decide whether to stop completely or beat up his ribcage.  
  
“Hold on,” Harry said.  
  
And then he hung up.  
  
“_...shit._”  
  
Draco’s heart would have stopped right there if his phone hadn’t started ringing next to his ear. Jerking it away from his face, he saw that it was Harry calling—only it was a video call, instead.  
  
He honestly debated whether or not to answer it or not. _Is it really worth the embarrassment?_  
  
But, just as the call was about to end, Draco answered, cursing under his breath. He was greeted by a smiling Harry leaning against the wooden headboard of what must be his bed, with his glasses perched on his nose and what looked like a dog—Snuffles, if he remembered right—laying across his lap.  
  
“You’re an asshole,” Draco growled. Moving around on his bed, Draco shifted so he was sitting upright against the wall, his blanket like a warm cocoon around him. The scowl on his face surely matched the bitter taste in his throat.  
  
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to see if you were as red as I thought you’d be.” Harry appraised him and shrugged nonchalantly—before his demeanor suddenly became more serious. Draco instantly felt as though he had his boyfriend’s complete, undivided attention, and the frown on his lips dissipated. “I would also really rather be able to see you, especially when we’re talking about something important.”  
  
Draco tried to swallow again in the face of Harry’s small, soft, understanding smile. Now, he felt as though he’d been overly worried for nothing. What had he expected? For Harry to get upset? Or angry? For him to say horrible things and make Draco feel ashamed and embarrassed for asking?  
  
Then he realized—it wasn’t _Harry_ who would do those things.  
  
It was Draco’s father.  
  
Harry had always made him feel validated and important. He’d never gotten truly angry or malicious, even when they fought. He’d never dismissed Draco or his feelings. _It’s safe to ask him things,_ Draco reminded himself, _Harry is safe. He’s not like Father._  
  
Even though it was through a screen, Draco looked deep into Harry’s green eyes, and let that feeling of safety blanket him. Each of his muscles relaxed and he let the tension in his face go.  
  
“So?”  
  
“Dray,” Harry began, his voice threaded with cool and balance, “baby, of course, I want to have sex with you. Of course I want you. I want to give you absolutely all of me. I love you, and I want to be with you in every way that you’ll let me.”  
  
The beaming, watery grin on Draco’s face couldn’t be helped.  
  
“So it’s _not_ just for my body?” he teased, despite the pressure building behind his eyes at Harry’s words. The atmosphere had stopped feeling so tense. It was lighter somehow, now that both of them seemed to ease into the feeling that they were completely safe with each other—not that they hadn’t been previously, but it hit differently somehow. It was new territory, this conversation, and safety was beyond important.  
  
Harry let out a barked laugh. “Your body’s a hot bonus.”  
  
His eyes felt as though they were boring into Draco’s, and his somber tone returned, even as there was still a crooked smile on his lips. “What do you feel?” Harry asked. “About having sex with me?”  
  
Wetting his lips, Draco gave himself a moment’s hesitation before answering. “I want you. Hell, I want all of you, Harry.” If possible, his face felt even hotter and his heart pounded even faster. “I just… I thought that maybe it would be a good idea to talk about it before anything happened, you know?”  
  
“What, so you don’t count making out in my car as something happening?”  
  
“You’re impossible and you know _exactly_ what I meant.”  
  
Humming in response, Harry’s smile somehow grew even softer—it made Draco wish that he was there with him if only so he could trace that smile with his fingertips and feel his warmth. “You’re right. I’ve been meaning to bring it up, I just couldn’t really find an opening or the right time.” Even Harry shook his head at his own lame excuse. “Have you thought about… what you want?”  
  
“Um…” Draco floundered, trying to put his abruptly flustered thoughts into words that wouldn’t embarrass himself. “I mean—”  
  
There was a sound like a door slamming open, cutting Draco off.  
  
“_Harry!_”  
  
With something between a chuckle and a suffering sigh, Harry explained, “It’s just Teddy. One second.” He set the phone down, so all Draco could see on his screen was the bedroom’s ceiling—which had glow-in-the-dark stars on it.  
  
“What’s up, Ted?”  
  
“Mama said to come bug you.”  
  
There was a long moment where the only sound seemed to be shuffling sheets and Harry’s repressed laughter. Then Harry’s phone was on the move until Teddy’s too-close face came into focus with Harry behind him. The toddler looked slightly older than he did in the pictures and his turquoise hair was fading into its natural mousy brown. His sweet face and sparkling eyes made him all the cuter.  
  
“Who you talkin’ to?” Teddy asked. His dark green eyes were wide as he gaped keenly at Draco, who gave a weak wave and nervous smile. _I’m being ridiculous,_ he thought. _This is a child, what’ve I got to be nervous about?_  
  
“That’s my boyfriend, Draco.” Harry’s bright smile seemed to overflow with complete adoration as he watched Teddy watch Draco. “Dray, this is Teddy.”  
  
Draco offered a polite, “Hi, Teddy.”  
  
“Pretty,” was Teddy’s only response, dazed and distracted—by Draco, apparently. Loud, snorting laughter burst out of Harry’s mouth. Just watching him laugh made Draco crack a wide grin and let out a chuckle. It seemed that Teddy didn’t seem to mind, though.  
  
Once Harry had calmed down and recaptured his breath, he said, “Alright, well, I need to get Ted to Remus and Tonks. It’s almost his bedtime.” He sounded apologetic.  
  
“Okay.” Draco waved to the little boy with a stronger smile. “Bye, Teddy.”  
  
“Bye-bye!” He obediently handed Harry the phone when he asked if a little reluctantly.  
  
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Harry said, “and we can talk more then. I love you, kitten.”  
  
“I love you too, sweetheart.” Draco teasingly blew him a kiss, memorizing Harry’s smile, before they hung up.  
  
Later that night, sleep found Draco easily. All the worry that had been niggling away at his brain had been silenced. Contentment and peace seemed to wrap around him, brought about by simply replaying Harry’s words over and over in his mind. _I want you. I want to give you absolutely all of me. I love you._  
  
He felt warmer. He felt loved.  
  
Draco fell asleep with the thought of seeing Harry soon making him smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I'm being honest with y'all, I kind of just... gave up a little at the end, so it's not nearly as good as I'd wanted it to be, but I wanted to get this chapter updated asap. Anyway, leave me a comment! I love hearing from all my readers! *like seriously please do they make me so happy* Lots of love to everyone out there!


	21. I Missed You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Icy, soft hands suddenly trailed across the skin at Harry’s hips, just at the hem of his shorts. That, combined with the cool breath fanning across his shoulder, made him shiver as goosebumps flowered across his skin. A familiar pair of silky lips pressed a delicate kiss between Harry’s shoulder blades. Both relief and excitement poured in through every pore in his body, flooding his every sense.  
  
A rumbling hum came from the deepest part of Harry’s chest. His head tilted back of its own volition, his eyes fluttered closed. Those dainty hands explored Harry’s abdomen, back, and chest with light touches before pale arms wrapped around his hips.  
  
“Hi.” Draco smiled against the nape of Harry’s neck. “Someone’s still as devastatingly handsome as ever, I see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...surprise...?! I'm still alive! So, yeah, there's been quite a break between this chapter and the last one, and I'm so sorry for that, but I promise that I have some good excuses if you really want to hear them. But anyway, I hope all of my dearest readers like this chapter at least. I love you all <3

It would be a blatant lie if Harry said he’d wanted to go to football practice just after returning to Hogwarts. But, nonetheless, that was where he found himself—running drills out on the field with his team. He’d barely had the chance to text Draco that he was back before he had to rush to the locker rooms and to the field.  
  
It was truly ridiculous how much Harry had missed his boyfriend over the course of two and a half days. Enough that he’d caught himself wishing that he’d simply brought Draco with him. Stuffed him in with his luggage, perhaps. He’d certainly fit, even if it was a bit squishy. Harry’s lips twitched into a laughing smile at the thought.  
  
And although he knew that he should probably be focusing on his practice, seeing as the last game of the season, the one that would make or break their team, was four days away, Harry found himself drifting in his thoughts. It was lucky for him that Coach Hooch was more preoccupied with phone calls and paperwork than closely observing the team.  
  
Slowly, though, he managed to get his mind under control. Moving through the motions of all the drills was both soothing and exhilarating. Harry felt as though a piece of himself was falling back into place as he ran, directed, and observed on the field. His body simply knew what to do. The scent of freshly cut spring grass was a familiar embrace to his senses. Warm sunshine shimmered in vibrant hues as the sun continued its descent towards the horizon.  
  
It was only when Coach Hooch blew her obnoxiously high-pitched whistle and everyone slowed to a stop that Harry realized how much his team had improved. The way they moved together was like a synchronized symphony—completely in time with one another while performing wholly different parts. Theo in particular had improved exponentially since that last game he’d played in. He seemed to have finally found his place in the well-oiled machine that was the team.  
  
“Remember that we have practice every day this week, except for Wednesday,” Hooch said, her piercing eyes scanning over her lineup of football players. “Final game is on Friday, and I expect all of you to be playing just as well as you were today. Better, if you all can manage it.” A few snickers, most likely from Fred and George, broke the serious atmosphere that had begun to settle over them. Both Harry and Hooch rolled their eyes—only Harry’s didn’t carry nearly as much annoyance.  
  
“Alright, off with the lot of you.” Hooch turned away, a reluctantly small smile on her thin lips. 

Harry was alone in the steamy locker room when he heard the door open. A pair of soft, familiar footsteps followed before the door closed again, slowly coming closer. A knowing grin spread on his lips. Yet, he continued shuffling through clothes in his locker, trying to find a clean shirt.  
  
Icy, soft hands suddenly trailed across the skin at Harry’s hips, just at the hem of his shorts. That, combined with the cool breath fanning across his shoulder, made him shiver as goosebumps flowered across his skin. A familiar pair of silky lips pressed a delicate kiss between Harry’s shoulder blades. Both relief and excitement poured in through every pore in his body, flooding his every sense.  
  
A rumbling hum came from the deepest part of Harry’s chest. His head tilted back of its own volition, his eyes fluttered closed. Those dainty hands explored Harry’s abdomen, back, and chest with light touches before pale arms wrapped around his hips.  
  
“Hi.” Draco smiled against the nape of Harry’s neck. “Someone’s still as devastatingly handsome as ever, I see.”  
  
With a smirk on his face, Harry dropped the shirt in his hands and turned around to look at his boyfriend. His smiling, flushed, grey-eyed boyfriend. His boyfriend that was dressed in a white crop top that Harry had never seen him in before, along with his superbly tight black skinny jeans. The shirt’s hem fell just below Draco’s ribcage, and his pants hugged his legs in all the right places.  
  
“Oh, yes,” Harry said, his arms draping around Draco’s slim waist, a feeling of awe crawling inside him. “Someone _is_ looking particularly gorgeous. _Perfectly_ delectable, really.”  
  
The blush on Draco’s face deepened impossibly, and the satisfied smirk only grew on Harry’s. He loved how his words still affected Draco, still made him flush red and drop his gaze as if he was feeling shy.  
  
Draco lifted his face and brushed his nose against Harry’s. “Is that so?” His hands smoothed up the expanse of Harry’s chest until his arms wrapped around the taller boy’s shoulders, leaving chilled fire and threads of pleasure in their wake.  
  
The only reply Harry gave was an affirmative hum. He was far too busy simply taking in the entity that was the boy before him—Draco’s bright eyes, his elegantly sharp cheekbones, his lean frame, his jaw that was so defined he could cut himself on it. His taut stomach and navel. The distinct lines of his hips revealed by his low-rise jeans.  
  
Yes, there was no doubt that Draco was perfectly delectable.  
  
Gazing deep into grey eyes, Harry said, “I missed you, you know.”  
  
“Aw, but Harry,” Draco crooned with a wide grin, drawing a finger down the line of Harry’s nose, “it was _only_ a few days. Surely you should’ve been fine.”  
  
Harry couldn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me, you ass.”  
  
“I happen to know that you _like_ my ass.”  
  
“You’re impossible. Incorrigible, really.”  
  
Finally, with a beaming smile, Draco pulled Harry down by the back of his neck into a slow, melting kiss. It was all soft lips and warmth. It was slow, tender movements that stoked the burning embers in Harry’s chest. It was Harry pulling Draco closer until their bodies were flush against each other. It was Draco threading his fingers through Harry’s hair, and it was Harry tilting his boyfriend’s head back to kiss him deeper, more thoroughly. It was tongues slowly, intimately brushing against each other like they had all the time in the world.  
  
It was pent up desire and love and longing put into the language of taste and feel. It was having a sip of water after being lost in the desert. It was cool warmth spreading through every vein and pore in Harry’s body.  
  
It was Draco walking Harry backward until the taller boy was sitting on a bench, barely breaking the kiss before he straddled Harry’s hips and sat on his lap.  
  
For all its intensity, neither boy accelerated the kiss—it remained slow, passionate, and molten. Harry could taste strawberries on Draco’s tongue, and it made him smile into his kiss and trace shapes into his boyfriend’s silky skin.  
  
Slowly, Harry pulled away from his boyfriend’s lips to start trailing over his skin—lightly over his cheek, leaving soft kisses across his jaw and down the elegant column of his neck. Every inch of Draco he could find. The feel of his smooth skin and the sweet taste of his mouth and skin made butterflies flutter in Harry’s stomach in the best possible way. Listening to Draco’s panting breaths was an ecstasy all its own. He didn’t know how he’d managed to convince himself that he was fine without Draco for a few days.  
  
If the racing of his heart and reluctance to let go was anything to go by, he very clearly was not.  
  
“I missed you, too,” Draco whispered, his long fingers slowly and soothingly threading through Harry’s unruly, slightly damp hair. “I missed you a lot.”  
  
Harry hummed in response, satisfied that he wasn’t the only one. He placed a kiss to the hollow of Draco’s throat and then rested his forehead on his shoulder, relishing the familiarity of Draco’s embrace. His lean arms held Harry close. His fingers brushed against his skin in random shapes. His lips pressed against his forehead, his hair, his temple. His heartbeat was strong and comforting.  
  
“I believe that you owe me a few hours of painting you, darling,” Draco murmured against Harry’s brow. “Or days. Days would be nice, too. If I remember right, we agreed on however long I wanted. I’d clear your schedule if I was you.”  
  
Harry huffed a laugh and slid his hands up and down Draco’s spine. “I like that one, too.” Lifting his head, Harry smirked at his boyfriend, adoring and crooked at the same time. He quite enjoyed the way Draco looked back at him—all smitten and rosy and beautiful. “_Darling._ Makes you sound like a right proper gentleman from the eighteen-hundreds or something.”  
  
“I’m going to pretend that was a compliment.”  
  
“It was a compliment of the highest order, my love. I have no idea how it could be anything else. Everyone knows that the gentlemen are the sexy ones.”  
  
Draco snorted as he disentangled himself from Harry and stood on his own two feet with his hands on his hips. “I meant what I said.” He leaned over and grabbed Harry’s shirt that he’d dropped, only to toss it at him, smacking him right in the face. “I’m going to take full advantage of your promise. So, I suggest you put on your shirt so I can start.”  
  
“Ooh, he’s bossy, now.” Harry teased, though he did as he was told and laughed at his boyfriend’s playful scowl. “That might be even more attractive than the gentleman thing.”  
  
After quickly closing his locker and slinging his gym bag over his shoulder, Harry took Draco’s hand with his free one and interlaced their fingers, leading him out of the locker room.  
  
“You can paint me for as long as you like.” Harry raised their interlaced hands and kissed Draco’s knuckles. The lingering pink color to his ears made him look nearly angelic. “On one condition.”  
  
Draco’s perfectly sculpted brow arched at him.  
  
“You have to teach _me_ how to paint _you._” 

It didn’t go half as well as Harry had imagined. Which wasn’t very well, to begin with.  
  
“You know,” Draco said while wiping at his face with a wet cloth in the bathroom, “you’re lucky you’re cute, or else I would really, really hate you right now.”  
  
There was paint smeared on both his face and Harry’s, though Harry had been mostly responsible for both. Draco had taken one look at the mess that was Harry’s “painting” and laughed so hard he’d snorted and fallen off of his painting stool. It was a horrendous rendition that could more accurately be interpreted as abstract art, rather than a portrait of his blonde boyfriend.  
  
Harry had figured that, if he’d made such a mess of himself and his painting, then surely Draco deserved to have his feathers ruffled as well. Hence, the streaks of paint all over his face: sky blue cutting through his left eyebrow and down his cheek, pineapple yellow fingerprints from his chin to his ear, lavender purple smeared down his nose and the corner of his lips. His face had practically turned into a rainbow.  
  
Harry wasn’t much better off, himself.  
  
“Well,” Harry replied with a teasing lilt in his voice, “if that’s the only thing you like me for, I guess that’ll have to be good enough for me.” Taking the cloth from Draco’s hands, Harry turned his boyfriend to face him, holding his jaw, and gently dabbed at the remaining paint. Luckily for both of them, it hadn’t dried yet and was still relatively easy to clean off.  
  
“Your altruism is kind of annoying,” Draco badgered back. “One might think that _you_ were the selfless one in this relationship.”  
  
A small laugh was the only response given. A gentle smile sat on Harry’s lips as Draco allowed him to clean up his own mess. Though, he had to admit that this paint-streaked version of Draco was absolutely adorable—what with the light in his eyes and the blush rising to his cheeks contradicting the faltering scowl on his lips.  
  
“Harry?” Draco asked after a moment of comfortable silence.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Can I ask you a completely off-topic question?”  
  
At this, Harry’s eyes flicked up to look into Draco’s, though he didn’t stop wiping away the emerald green paint that had found its way onto his boyfriend’s neck. He saw the mild hesitation in their grey depths and answered with his own question. “Is this going to be like your last off-topic question?”  
  
The flush in Draco’s face spread to his ears. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”  
  
Harry tried his best not to let his nervous curiosity show. “What is it, love?” The air around them became charged with a shaky tension, fueled by Draco’s prolonged pause.  
  
“How many—” Draco paused, and Harry could practically see and hear him swallow past a lump in his throat. “H-how many people have you… been with?”  
  
The surprise wasn’t as potent as Harry thought it would be, hearing that question. He didn’t particularly know how he felt about hearing it, either. He did, however, let his hands drop to his sides and look intently at the boy before him. “You mean sexually?”  
  
“Yeah.” Draco could barely hold eye contact, and his face was just as flushed as it had been the night before when he’d called Harry. His fingers twitched at his sides, and Harry could see his feet shuffling ever so slightly while his brow furrowed.  
  
Before replying, Harry lifted himself to sit on the bathroom counter and drew Draco in to stand between his legs, holding his boyfriend’s pale hands in his own. He’d known that this conversation was quite possibly long overdue, and with Draco asking him about sex the night previous, it was bound to be brought up again. Which, if he was honest with himself, he was both happy and panicked about. While he was ecstatic to share even more of himself with Draco, a boy he loved, a boy who had been there for him, there was a niggling voice in his head that wondered: what if Draco saw all of him, every broken piece and disappointment, and simply decided he wasn’t worth the effort?  
  
_No, Harry,_ he reminded himself, _that’s the fear talking. Draco hasn’t walked away._  
  
“Two. Cedric and Ginny.” Reading Draco’s blank expression was impossible. His eyes were fixed on Harry’s chest, his brows drawn together ever so slightly. His lips had pressed into a thin line.  
  
“Oh.” Draco’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. His gaze didn’t move from where it was fixed. “Do you… regret any of it?”  
  
“Having sex with them?” Harry asked. A thread of uncertainty wound itself around his heart when Draco nodded his head. He quickly cut it as he reached out and tilted Draco’s head up by his chin. He remained silent until those beautiful grey eyes finally looked at him, the same uncertainty swirling in their depths.  
  
“Yes and no,” Harry started, gently. “I regret that night with Ginny—drunk sex is never a good idea, and it only ended up hurting both of us. But… I don’t regret being with Cedric, as crazy as that sounds. Even though the relationship ended horribly, I was happy—for the most part—while it lasted. And sex with him was part of that. Both of those experiences taught me a lot, and I like to think that I came out better.”  
  
Harry took a deep breath, having only ever admitted what he’d said to himself. He waited for his boyfriend to say something.  
  
Draco stayed quiet for a moment.  
  
And then another.  
  
His eyes dropped back down.  
  
The severed thread of uncertainty mutated into a thick coil of rope that slowly pulled Harry’s hands away from his boyfriend’s. It wrapped around his neck and burned in his throat and threatened to take away his air. Harry wondered how it was possible that not five minutes ago he’d been basking in the beauty that was the boy who wasn’t looking at him.  
  
Had he finally become too much of a failure for him? Had the anxiety in the back of his mind finally become a reality? Had he finally said too much, revealed too many ugly truths?  
  
“Does that… disappoint you?” Harry asked, feeling as though his heart had dropped to his stomach. He tried hard to swallow past the burning feeling in his throat. “Do _I..._ disappoint you?”  
  
And like lightning, Draco’s head instantly snapped up, startling Harry. His grey eyes were wide and nearly horrified. His hands suddenly grasped Harry’s and yanked them to his chest as he exclaimed, “No! No, Harry, God, no, never.”  
  
Harry flinched.  
  
He’d tried not to.  
  
He felt Draco’s grip on his hands loosen, and his touch become soft and soothing rather than frantic.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered gently. “I shouldn’t have shouted. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just don’t want you to think that. You couldn’t ever disappoint me, Harry. Or... disgust me, if that’s something you’re worried about.” Draco’s eyes held pure earnestness as they bore into Harry’s, a complete turn around from where he’d been moments ago. “I’m... more concerned that _I_ might disappoint you.”  
  
“Why would you disappoint me?” Harry hesitantly asked. His heart gradually settled in his chest as he wound himself down. His lungs slowly remembered how to breathe properly again as Draco’s thumbs rubbed circles into his palms.  
  
“Because I haven’t—I’m a virgin.”  
  
Harry’s eyebrow rose of its own accord.  
  
“Yeah... I already knew that, Draco.”  
  
The scarlet flush and baffled look on Draco’s face would have made for an adorable combination if Harry’s brain hadn’t still been going a mile a minute, trying to process everything that had just happened while also calming itself.  
  
“What do you mean you already knew?” Draco blurted.  
  
“What do you mean, what do I mean? You told me. Don’t you remember?”  
  
“Do I _look_ like I remember?”  
  
“The first night you stayed the night in my dorm,” Harry tried again, “after that party?”  
  
“I very much do _not_ remember telling you that I’m a virgin that night, Harry.”  
  
“It was after we went to bed,” Harry explained, “I think you were probably like, half-asleep or something. You were babbling about a lot of stuff before you finally fell asleep in the middle of talking about how you wish you’d had a dog growing up.”  
  
Harry once again picked up the damp cloth and set to cleaning away the rest of the paint on his boyfriend’s embarrassed face, once again feeling grounded and together. Drawing Draco closer, Harry asked him, “Are you ashamed about being a virgin?”  
  
Draco hesitated. “I mean... I don’t know. I guess.” His tongue darted out over his lips, his hands twitched where they lay on Harry’s thighs. “I just—don’t want to feel like I don’t know what I’m doing, or that I can’t—that you don’t want someone who doesn’t know how to—”  
  
“Hey,” Harry interrupted, taking Draco’s jaw in his hand. Those grey eyes seemed to flicker in the fluorescent bathroom lights. “Baby, no. It doesn’t matter to me that you’re a virgin, or that you might not know what to do. It doesn’t make me think any differently of you. That’s why we need to communicate with each other about what we need, or what we want.” A smile pulled at the corners of Harry’s lips. “It’s okay if we go slow, my love.”  
  
And just like that, Draco seemed to melt—his shoulders relaxed, and his eyes fluttered closed as Harry released his jaw and wiped away the remaining paint flecks from both of their faces. The atmosphere around them relaxed where it had been charged. Small, soft smiles pulled at both of their mouths.  
  
When Harry set the rag down in the sink, Draco opened his eyes, took Harry by the hands, and led him out of the bathroom and into his bed.  
  
Curled around his boyfriend under the comforter, Harry felt an indescribable warmth fill every pore and crevice in his body. Laying there with Draco—both of them languidly exploring the other’s body with their fingertips in a way that felt lovingly intimate rather than sexual—felt like complete heaven. Like pieces of himself simply melted into place with Draco. Like Draco’s hands on his skin was a revelation from the highest of powers, telling him: _yes, this is what paradise feels like—this is exactly where you’re supposed to be._  
  
And if Harry’s eyelids fluttered closed and he drifted off to sleep with Draco’s fingers in his hair and his plush lips over his heart, well, there was no one else to see it. 

***

If there was one time that Draco was grateful to be as thin and lean as he was, it was when the football stands were absolutely packed. He was able to easily weave through people to keep the best view of Harry, ignoring the disgruntled looks he received. The final championship game had drawn the biggest crowd Draco had seen—students from both Hogwarts and Castelobruxo, the other competing school, family members, staff, and people who Draco was sure had absolutely no connection to either school and simply wanted to watch a football game.  
  
Watching Harry run and play was just as satisfying and attractive as it had always been—possibly more so now that the stakes were so high. The way his body moved was both fluid and controlled at the same time, well-practiced and personalized to play on Harry’s strengths. Draco could see his muscles moving under his skin all the way from the stands, could see the sweat dripping down his face and soaking through his clothes.  
  
“Oh!” Pansy shrieked in Draco’s ear from beside him, “Did you _see_ that? That Castelobruxo player just about fouled on Harry again!” Her manicured hands grasped at the sleeve of the jersey Draco wore—one of Harry’s large football jerseys.  
  
Draco had in fact seen the incident Pansy was talking about and told her so. There’d been many of the same nature from the same player, over and over again. Lucas Ferreira, one of Castelobruxo’s forward players, seemed to have some sort of grudge against Harry—he’d already fouled on him twice and had come close to injuring him far too many times for Draco’s taste. Fortunately, Harry seemed attuned to Ferreira’s agenda against him and was able to avoid the majority of his moves and make a few goals in the process, without sustaining any serious injuries.  
  
That didn’t mean that Draco didn’t want to kick a soccer ball into Ferriera’s head for targeting his boyfriend. Hard.  
  
Regardless of that, though, the game had consistently stayed head-to-head, neither team with an advantage over the other and a tied score. There were only two minutes left in the game, and Draco could practically feel the frustration from both teams, the desperation to make _just one more goal._  
  
For a while, nothing significant happened—until Theo stole the ball from another Castelobruxo player in a fantastically executed move and passed it to Harry with twenty seconds left on the clock.  
  
Draco watched with bated breath and anticipation pooling at the base of his spine. His fingers twitched with it. He watched as Harry dribbled the ball up the field with incredible speed, the seconds ticking down against him. And yet, just as the clock was down to three seconds, Harry had reached Castelobruxo’s goal.  
  
Harry set up the shot in one. Draco rose to the tips of his toes and clenched his hands in the jersey he wore.  
  
The ball was flying in the next second.  
  
The goalie’s fingertips just barely brushed it, but she wasn’t close enough or fast enough to stop it.  
  
The buzzer screamed just as the ball crossed the line and hit the net.  
  
The deafening uproar from the stands gave Draco goosebumps as he cheered with them. A sense of unquenchable pride filled his lungs and then Draco was racing down to the field, his vision tunneled on Harry’s handsome, appalled face as he was being surrounded by his teammates, each of them shouting and slapping Harry on the shoulder, hugging him and grinning.  
  
The next thing he knew, Draco had sprinted across the grass and practically launched himself at Harry—both of them falling to the ground with surprised grunts. Draco landed sprawled out over his boyfriend, looking down at his startled yet happy face. Harry’s hands came up to grab at Draco’s waist and the most beautifully radiant smile Draco had ever seen spread on his lips, his eyes crinkling.  
  
It was only natural for Draco to grin back down at him, then slide his hands to the back of his neck, lift his head and kiss him. Passionately, and with absolutely no regard for anyone who could be watching. He could taste the saltiness of Harry’s sweat on his lips, feel the adrenaline running through his body, feel his rapid heartbeat, and the sweet glide of his lips against Draco’s own. There was nothing else but Harry—nothing but the string that connected Draco’s heart to his.  
  
And then, as though a bubble had been burst, the sounds around them started pouring into Draco’s ears: cheering, shouting, whistling, one of the Weasley twins jokingly telling them both to get up and get a room. The kiss was broken by Harry laughing into Draco’s mouth, but the shorter boy couldn’t care less as he laughed with him. He felt high off of Harry’s victory, even though he hadn’t been playing himself.  
  
“Hey, baby,” Harry said, his voice rough and a little breathless, “fancy seeing you here.”  
  
Draco hummed in response and kissed him again, this time short and sweet and hard before he sat up, straddling Harry’s waist. “It’s always a pleasure to see me, darling. I mean, _winning_ the _cup?_ Not a huge deal, but seeing me definitely is.”  
  
Harry snickered with him as he sat up and gently maneuvered Draco so they could both stand up. “I have to go talk to Hooch and shower, and I’ll meet you after, my love.” Feeling somewhat unreasonably disappointed and disgruntled, Draco leaned up to kiss Harry again, only for his boyfriend to press a finger to his lips and continue, “I heard a rumor that Fred and George may have planned another party, just in case we won tonight.”  
  
“Oh?” Draco intoned, nipping at Harry’s finger indignantly. He felt a thread of anticipation weave its way through his ribs. He’d had quite the pleasurable time—for the majority—at the last party the Weasley twins had thrown, and he had an inkling that this one would be better. “Well, darling, perhaps I’ll just have to escort you there.”  
  
The grin that spread on Harry’s lips was wide and crooked and made Draco’s heart pound and his mouth twitch upwards. “I’d like that,” he answered, and intertwined their fingers.  
  
“O! Potter!”  
  
Both Draco and Harry’s heads whipped around to look at the source of the intruding voice—none other than Lucas Ferreira himself, walking towards them. Draco immediately felt his hackles rise. Up close, he could see that Ferreira was, unfortunately, _objectively_ handsome. He stood at about Draco’s height, with luminescent brown skin, a lean but muscular figure, curly brown hair, a thin, fine-boned face, and a cupid’s bow that Draco would kill for.  
  
He was still a bastard, though.  
  
“Ferreira,” Harry greeted him, his voice tight and clipped, and when the other boy was within reach, offered his hand, “you played well. Dirty as always.”  
  
Draco had to hold in his scoff—he settled for a cutting smirk instead.  
  
“That was one hell of a shot at the end,” the other player replied, gripping Harry’s hand. His brown eyes flicked over to Draco and his eyebrow quirked upward. It wasn’t exactly a friendly look. He looked back at Harry. “Pity it wasn’t more of a win.”  
  
Oh. So that was how he wanted to play.  
  
Draco let his wickedly sharp grin spread and squeezed Harry’s hand. The memories of all the times throughout the game that Ferreira had come close to seriously injuring Harry played over and over again in his mind, acting as his fuel.  
  
“I think,” he began smoothly, confidently, scathingly, “you mean it’s a pity that you lost. It’s a pity for you that you had to resort to hitting below the belt and playing dirty to try and hurt Harry so you’d have at least a _sliver_ of a chance of winning.” The wide-eyed, incredulous look on Ferreira’s stupid, bastard face was almost concerningly satisfying. “I hope your ego isn’t bruised too much. Now, it was delightful to meet you and catch up and everything, but Harry and I have more important things to do, so, if you’ll politely excuse us.”  
  
Tugging his boyfriend to follow him, Draco promptly turned on his heel and traipsed toward the center of the field where the rest of the team awaited them. A sense of twisted bliss and satisfaction bloomed in the pit of Draco’s stomach.  
  
He felt Harry lean closer into him as they walked, his breath fanning against the nape of his neck. “You,” he whispered, low and guttural in his ear, “are the sexiest creature I have _ever_ seen.”  
  
Heat suddenly effloresced throughout Draco’s veins. Scarlet surely stained his face—he could feel it in his ears all the way down to his chest. It was hard to look at his boyfriend in the eyes when Harry said things like that, and thinking straight was impossible.  
  
So, Draco just kissed the back of Harry’s hand and walked him the rest of the way to the rest of the team, and then left to wait for him outside of the locker rooms. 

It seemed that the fact that Hogwarts had really won the cup had finally settled in for everyone. The party that the Weasley twins had in fact thrown was even bigger than the previous one, spilling into the corridor and deafening in how loud it was. But it was all worth it, if only for the light in Harry’s eyes.  
  
He seemed high off of his team’s victory, shown in the way that the grin couldn’t leave his face even as Draco kissed him, in the way that his hands never left Draco’s body, in the way that he laughed with his whole body. Draco practically bathed in it all—he didn’t think he’d ever seen Harry so blissed out, with a few exceptions, of course.  
  
It was as they were dancing that Draco stretched up to whisper in Harry’s ear, inducing goosebumps and a shivering sigh, “Take me to your room?” 

The sound of the door banging open didn’t reach Draco’s ears—he was too busy being utterly consumed by Harry. His mouth, his hands, his body, his tongue, teeth, warmth, and breath. Heat poured down every inch of Draco’s body. He couldn’t decide where to put his hands, moving from Harry’s shoulders to his waist, his ass, his hair.  
  
Harry pulled away from the kiss and Draco whined—embarrassingly—at the loss before his boyfriend kissed his cheek and spoke in a gravelly, guttural voice. “What do you want, baby?” he panted. “Tell me what you want, Draco.”  
  
And oh, if that wasn’t the most arousing, moan-inducing thing Draco had ever heard in his entire life, he didn’t know what was. He cupped Harry’s face and met his dark, heated eyes.  
  
“You,” he answered, breathless and decided. “I want you, Harry. I want all of you. I want you to make love to me, I want you inside me, God, _Harry,_ I—”  
  
He was cut off by Harry’s lips slanting over his, somehow soft and bruising at the same time. A new fire sparked in Draco’s chest, kindled by the love and lust he felt, by the certainty that settled in his bones. Slowly, they shuffled toward Harry’s bed, hands wandering and clothes finding themselves removed from bodies and tossed onto the floor.  
  
Luckily for them, the room was empty, for neither had particularly bothered to check.  
  
With heartbreaking gentleness, Draco was lowered onto Harry’s sheets. His heart pounded against his ribs as he watched Harry crawl over him, left only in his briefs. He was sure that his face was more flushed than it had ever been, sure that it had spread all the way down his naked chest and ears. And when Harry’s face was above his own, his emerald green eyes were filled with something that Draco couldn’t fathom—couldn’t name or describe. All he knew was that it was beautiful, and he wanted more of it.  
  
He wanted more of Harry’s hands on him, more of his mouth, tongue, teeth, and skin. So, Draco pulled him down into a kiss by the back of his neck and crossed his ankles over the small of Harry’s back, drawing his body closer until every inch of them was pressed together. He soaked in the warmth that radiated from Harry. He ran his hands over every muscled plane of his body, drinking in the guttural noises that came from his boyfriend and gave his own in response.  
  
And when Harry hooked his thumbs in the elastic band of Draco’s briefs, the inferno that was Draco’s desire blazed ever higher and burned in the most pleasurable way down his skin, in the pit of his stomach, melting his nerves.  
  
Harry pulled away from the kiss only to start peppering them over Draco’s face. First his forehead, then his cheeks and nose and everywhere else. “Are you sure?” he asked. “You want this?”  
  
“Yes.” Draco dug his fingers into Harry’s back, careful to avoid his scars. He would kiss up and down each of those later. “Yes, I want this. Do you?”  
  
“God, yes,” Harry panted back, his warm breath fanning over Draco’s neck. And just like that, Draco’s briefs were pulled off his legs, and he was left completely bare while Harry trailed his lips up his right thigh. He reached into his nightstand drawer, and Draco saw him bring out a small bottle and a condom. “Tell me if you want me to stop, alright?”  
  
Though he nodded in answer, Draco knew that there would be no stopping tonight. He bathed in the way that his boyfriend looked at him—like he was in awe, like he was in love, like there was nowhere else he would rather be. With his feet, Draco pulled down Harry’s briefs as far as he could, letting his boyfriend do the rest.  
  
He couldn’t help but stare.  
  
At least until Harry kissed over his chest and discovered how sensitive Draco’s nipples were. Then he tossed his head back onto the pillows and his kiss-swollen lips dropped open with a sultry, nearly obscene moan, and he was drowning in the sensations of Harry touching him in all the right ways. And although it was an oddly new sort of feeling—somewhat awkward and uncomfortable at first—he found he quite liked having Harry’s fingers inside him.  
  
Which led to more.  
  
Thinking was impossible for Draco. He may have even forgotten his own name. Though he surely remembered Harry’s, as he moaned and whined it into his boyfriend’s ear and into his open, panting mouth. He didn’t bother to hold back any desperate, needy noises that were drawn out from him with the rhythmic rolling of Harry’s hips into his.  
  
And, true to Harry, he was slow, gentle, tender, and soft with Draco.  
  
That was, at least, until Draco begged him not to be.  
  
And there was one moment, in the thick of everything, in which the heat and passion and tension ran high and were nearly unbearable, where Draco met Harry’s eyes, and the cord that connected their hearts pulled taut.  
  
“I love you,” Harry moaned.  
  
And Draco orgasmed so hard, so long, so nearly violently, that black spots danced across his vision. His back arched toward Harry, his whole body trembling with the force of it, and he clutched tightly at the boy above him, letting out a pathetically loud whimpering moan. It was a miracle he didn’t completely pass out.  
  
When Harry climaxed, seconds after him, it was the most unforgettable sound Draco had ever heard. Unrestrained and sensuous, Draco knew that he would be hearing it in his dreams for months to come. 

Warm bath water swirled around Draco’s legs. He was sitting back against Harry’s chest, in between his legs with his strong arms wrapped around his waist. His boyfriend had had to carry him to the bathtub, his body was so limp, so exhausted.  
  
But it was worth it.  
  
He knew what it felt like to have his body connected with Harry’s.  
  
Now, he was sure, he knew what complete bliss felt like.  
  
The smile on his lips was surely permanent.  
  
“I love you,” Harry whispered to him, pressing it into his skin with his kisses, “It’s impossible, how much I love you.”  
  
In the low light, Draco whispered back, “I love you, too. Even if you are a complete animal.”  
  
Harry let out a quiet laugh before resuming his trail of soft kisses down Draco’s neck, over his shoulder, and anywhere he could reach. Draco simply let his head fall back on Harry’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and trusted that Harry wouldn’t leave him in there long enough for his skin to prune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope all of my dearest, most beloved readers enjoyed this chapter! Leave me a comment because they are literally the air I breathe and I love getting them, and also you just should because why not. I love you all! <3
> 
> Oh! Also, I got a tumblr account and a blog and everything so maybe go follow me there, where Shoulder Pillow is cross posted: @musicdreamer003

**Author's Note:**

> And that's it! Comments and kudos are amazing!


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